


dumb slut space adventures i guess

by terribleshipsandsadshit



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Collars, Hhhhhh, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Just fuckin...dumb oc shit, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Power Play, Prostitution, Self-Hatred, Tentacles, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, ripperoni, what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 08:33:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19195363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terribleshipsandsadshit/pseuds/terribleshipsandsadshit
Summary: just......tentacles and shit





	1. Chapter 1

The alien was huge. It dwarfed Caleb, who was easily 4 or 5 times smaller, and the slimy mass of tentacles protruding from its body were long and thick. Sure, he'd fucked aliens before (well, he'd _been_ fucked) but this one...it was giant, and it didn't look very friendly. Certo was probably still in the first room of the cave, chipping away the rock cemented around the large gem they'd been sent to steal. Caleb had wandered deeper into the seemingly abandoned cave, curious and bored of watching them hack away at the wall.   
The alien was in the fourth room, giant and looming and dripping sticky slime everywhere.   
"Oh, fuck." he whispered to himself, eyeing the large creature with interest and trepidation. The air smelled sweet and inviting, it made his head feel fuzzy and distant and he definitely, definitely should not have come in here. Certo was going to be pissed if they had to walk in on him getting the literal life fucked out of him again...but it smelled so _good_.  
He stumbled forward, saliva suddenly thick and abundant in his mouth, pants damp and eyes wide. Two tentacles wrapped around his wrists, and then his ankles, gentle but firm when he weakly tried to pull himself free.  
 _No_ , a low, disembodied voice murmured, _no pulling. Be good._  
Caleb gave in easily at that, eyes fluttering closed as a slick tentacle slid underneath his shirt and another up his pant leg, the seams straining. A slimmer, tapered tentacle snaked between his lips, caressing his tongue and filling his mouth with thick, sweet-tasting liquid that made his whole body ache and burn, his brain slowing from a fountain to a trickle.   
More tentacles pushed themselves beneath his clothes, squirming and slick, and - and Caleb's brain was absolute mush. He couldn't think, couldn't remember anything before this moment right now, couldn't even remember his own _name_.  
"-leb. Caleb. Jesus _fuck_ , seriously?"   
Caleb blinked slowly, squinting. Someone else was in here. His brain churned furiously, trying to connect dots and put names to faces and remember _anything_ that wasn't the slide of tentacles against his skin, in his hair, his mouth, inside of him - but he came up short, the spark of recognition flickering out.   
"...can't believe this..." he heard, the voice sounding echo-y and far-away "...fucking talking about this later, you absolute moron."   
4 quick shots rang out and Caleb felt the tentacles tense, tighten, and then release him, leaving him gasping and shivering and empty on the cold, rocky floor of the cave. The fog lifted from his brain and he turned his head slowly and with new clarity, wincing in pain.   
"C-Certo?"   
Certo hauled him to his feet angrily, gloved hand fisted in his jacket collar, face inches away from his.   
"Fucking _idiot_." they snarled. "Do you know what that fucking thing is? That's an _Alpha-Nodrus-9_."   
Caleb's eyes widened.   
"The - the ones that, like, eat you?"   
"Oh, so there is a brain in there! Yeah, dumbass, the ones that lure you in and then suck the fucking life out of you. God, do you even know what would've happened if I hadn't got here in time?"   
"Well I didn't know it was eating me, it sure didn't feel like it!" Caleb snapped, brain still slightly sluggish.  
"Why were you even _in_ here?"   
"I dunno, you were just cutting rock and I got bored and I wandered further into the cave and then I found this room and it was in here and it smelled so good I couldn't make myself leave and I knew you'd get mad but by the time I realized I should leave it already had me and when I tried to get it off it told me to fucking 'be good' like I'm some kind of dog and -"   
"Aren't you?" Certo hissed, cutting him off. "You wander off, follow whatever smells good, roll over and play nice for anyone who wants to have a go at you...fucking dumb animal."   
"Shut up!" Caleb stepped back, face red.   
"Christ, I've half a mind to start putting you on a leash when we go out so you don't get yourself killed."   
Caleb's whole face burned bright red and he stared determinedly at the ground, silent, not meeting Certo's eyes.   
"Aw, does somebody have his tail between his legs cuz he got yelled at?" they said, voice thick with mock-sympathy. And then, concerned, angry, "I'm getting sick of this. You can't keep _doing_ this."  
Caleb's mouth felt dry and cottony. He looked up, eyes wide and glistening, lower lip just barely trembling.   
"I'm sorry." he said quietly.   
Certo stepped forward and pushed a hand through his hair comfortingly.   
"I know." they said, genuine this time, eyes softer. "Let's go home." 

Certo walked into his room later that night, chucked a strip of black leather at him, and said, "This is yours now."   
Caleb picked it up from where it had landed by his knee on the bed, first confused, and then angry.   
"This is a fucking dog collar." he snapped, holding it up between two fingers.   
"So astute."   
"I'm not wearing a dog collar."   
"Who's ship is this?" Certo asked. It wasn't really a question. "Who's in charge here?"   
"But -"   
"Who found who getting gang raped by cloudrock dealers? Who had a _drug_ problem before I found him? Who has no regard for his own safety?"   
" _Hey_ , you still have _no_ proof that that wasn't consensual -"  
Certo snorted. (They both knew that it wasn't. It really, really wasn't. Caleb was 14 with an addiction and a still-intact sense of naivety and the dealers had kept him in a spare room on their ship, tied to the bed, for at least 3 weeks before Certo raided it and found him. That was years ago - but it still might be the most scared he's ever been. He thought he was never getting off that ship.)   
"No. You're wearing it until you can prove to me that you won't get yourself killed."   
Caleb threw it at them, the collar hitting their chest and falling to the ground.   
"I'm not wearing it."   
He crossed his arms, sullen and scowling.   
"Throwing a temper tantrum really isn't helping your case," Certo said, bending to pick it up. "Now come here. If you won't put it on, I will."   
Caleb flushed dark red, scooting backwards on the bed and shaking his head.   
"That's what your mom said last night." he said, filled with false bravado.   
Certo stared at him. And then - "Really? You're really going to make me come over there." they said, eyes narrowed. Caleb was silent.   
Certo walked around the side of the bed, sighing, and reached a hand out - but Caleb rolled off the other side, hitting the ground with an audible thump.   
Certo slid across the bed, swung their legs around the other side and stepped on his wrist, heel grinding into the soft skin and pinning him to the ground. They reached down, yanked his head up by the hair - "Ow, quit it, god, you fucking -" - and quickly looped the collar around his neck one-handed, clicking the lock on the back.   
Caleb stumbled to his feet, wrist freed, and fumbled with the collar, tugging on it furiously, eyes widening when his fingers brushed over the lock.   
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" he said, shocked.   
"No, I'm pretty serious. You've been a real fucking moron lately."   
"But -"   
"This isn't just about the AN-9, this is about the last couple of _months_. I don't know what your problem is, but I'm getting sick of _you_ wandering off and _me_ having to go find you getting high or beat up or fucked or _whatever_."   
It was true. They both knew it. Caleb had been even worse than usual lately - picking fights, snorting anything that could be snorted, fucking whatever moved, smoking out behind bars and letting himself be pushed to his knees by anyone and everyone while Certo collected and stole and actually made them money.   
"I mean, jesus christ, last week I caught you and Atlas fucking! In the kitchen! Which is disgusting! We make food there!"   
"Well I woke up and you were gone and I didn't even _do_ anything, he just made a move!"   
Certo stared at him, deadpan.   
"So you weren't shirtless and wearing your short shorts and doing your 'reaching for the cereal' gimmick? Because Atlas told me you practically threw yourself at him. Which, not only is that gross because he's almost 50, but you've known him since you were 15! And it's also gross because he's my friend and I invited him over to have dinner, not to fuck you!"   
"Well I didn't force him to fuck me!" Caleb snapped, arms crossed. Certo mirrored him, crossing their arms frustratedly.   
"Oh, I know. You think I'm not absolutely livid with him? Because I am, he should know better. He _knows_ how you are."   
"What's that supposed to - ugh, none of this is the point! The point is, I'm not wearing this stupid collar and you're not putting me on a leash because it's weird and people will think it's weird and we're nooooot doing this. We're not."   
Certo leaned forward, eyebrow raised.   
"Your only objection is that people will think it's weird? I mean, I don't even want to TRY to unpack that one. I'm not arguing about this anymore. You're wearing it, and you can either be hooked up to this -" they pulled a thin black leash out of their pocket, coiled neatly "- or you can stay home."   
Caleb deflated, shoulders slumping.   
"How long?" he grumbled. He could tell Certo wasn't going to budge - they'd offered no chance for compromise, no other options. The incident with the AN-9 had clearly shaken them. Caleb knew he could've died, like, really died, and he guessed he deserved this, on some level. But Certo had been going out without him more than usual these past few months, doing solo missions and trying to make nice with other raiders and gangs. It was never easy - they were all suspicious of each other, uncomfortable - thieves knew not to trust thieves. Caleb wasn't usually allowed on these diplomatic missions, for good reason; Certo had made that mistake before. But he felt left out, deprived of adventure and affection and attention.   
"If you're a _good boy_ ," they said, "I'll take it off in a couple weeks."   
"A couple _weeks_?" Caleb stared at them, incredulous.   
"Yeah, a couple weeks. I think a couple weeks of not being a little psycho is a very generous punishment considering what I've had to put up with for a couple _months_."   
Caleb's mouth opened and closed, conflicted. Certo kind of had a point, as much as he hated to admit it and as much as he loathed being wrong.   
"How am I supposed to shower? And you put it on too tight." he whined.   
"It's waterproof. And no," Certo stepped forward and slid two fingers between his neck and the leather, testing the give, "I didn't."  
"I'll suffocate and die." Caleb wailed dramatically, flopping onto the bed. "You're trying to kill me."   
"Are you five."   
"It's so constricting!" he gasped, pretending to choke.  
Certo reached forward and yanked him up by the collar's d-ring.   
"Aw, poor baby. How will you go on?" they mocked, fake-pouting at him.  
Caleb's face immediately went bright red at the controlling action, mouth closed tight and eyes wide.   
"Geez, is that all it takes to get you to shut up? I should've done this years ago."   
Certo let him go and he fell backwards onto the bed again with a barely-audible _uuf_.   
"Well," they said, now standing in the doorway, "Glad we got that sorted. I'll be in my room if you need anything. Have fun...doing whatever it is you do in here when you're alone."   
"I jerk off thinking about your dad." Caleb snapped as they left, closing the door.   
As soon as it clicked shut, he raised a hand to trace his fingers along the thick black collar, index finger looping through the d-ring and tugging experimentally. Maybe...maybe this would be more fun than he originally thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> these aren't chronological lmao just a dumb incident of drug use

Caleb had snorted their whole stash of cloudrock again. _All_ of it.   
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." Certo sighed, taking in the sight of him laying on the kitchen floor, shirtless and giggling at nothing. "I was only gone for _three days_."   
Caleb rolled over, staring at him from the ground, eyes lighting up.   
"You're back!" he exclaimed. "Missed you. Got bored."   
Certo eyed the empty little plastic bags on the counter, the knocked-over capless pill bottles and the bloody tissues in the kitchen trash bin.   
"Jesus christ, yeah, I see that."   
Caleb leapt to his feet and raced over to them, throwing himself into their arms in what was more of an attack than it was a hug.   
"Jeeeee-sus," Certo said, peeking over his shoulder into the living room, which was...not in great shape. "Caleb, you need to tell me if you don't feel okay being left by yourse -" they started, cutting themself off when Caleb inhaled deeply, face pressed into their jacket.   
"Are you _smelling_ me?"   
"Mmhm, you smell like vanilla." he mumbled.   
"You smell like weed." They paused for a moment, sniffing lightly. "And vomit, sort of. You should take a shower."   
"But I'm having so much fuuuuuuuuuuun!" Caleb danced away from them, spinning in an uncoordinated circle and waving his arms.   
"Are these supposed to be dance moves? God, you really must be high."   
Certo watched him flail around the kitchen for a moment before taking him firmly by the upper arm and pulling him towards the bathroom, pushing him down to sit on the edge of the tub once they got there.   
"I leave for three days and I come back to this." Certo grumbled, pulling up the hem of his shirt. "Can I take this off?"   
"Mmm, yeah, take it _all_ off."   
Certo wrinkled their nose, tugging his shirt up over his head and tossing it behind them.   
"Okay, well, gross, also what is _in_ your hair? Is this - is this peanut butter?"   
"Maaaybe?"   
"I'd also like to say," Certo said evenly, "that we will be talking about this later, and that the only reason I'm not outwardly furious with you right now is because you're high out of your mind and nothing I say right now will get through to you."   
"I'll get through to _you_." Caleb slurred, attempting to wink.   
"Uh huh. Good one, buddy. You want your shorts on or off for the shower?"   
"I want a bath." he whined, pouting.   
"Yeah, absolutely not, you literally will drown." Certo said. "Shorts on or off?"  
"Hhh...on - wait no, off - wait, uh, uh...I dunno, this is too hard!"   
Certo hooked their thumbs in the waistband and slid the shorts down his legs, pausing momentarily at the newly-formed scabs on his thighs, frowning. They reached behind him and turned on the shower, taking off a glove to test the temperature.   
"Ok, that's fine. Get in, little moron. I'll be right here in case you drown or fall or get sucked down the drain."   
"Mkay." Caleb said, standing up from the bathtub ledge and stepping into the shower, moaning lowly at the feeling of warmth on his skin. Certo closed the shower curtain, not interested in the sight of their friend naked and high and also making vaguely obscene noises. (They saw enough of that already, they thought, shuddering).   
"Cloudrock always makes me so horny and there's no one here to fuck me." Caleb said sadly from behind the shower curtain.   
"I know, buddy. Wash your hair and maybe I'll call one of my friends to help you come down." Certo offered reluctantly, a few particularly perverted acquaintances already coming to mind. It couldn't be someone who'd hurt him (even though he liked that, ugh, gross) but it also couldn't be someone with a good moral code...after all, Caleb was high off his ass, and this barely counted as consent, but Certo really didn't want to deal with him trying to crawl into their bed later tonight.  
"Ooo, yay." Caleb said quietly. They heard the shampoo bottle open with a soft _snick_.   
_Saros would do it_ , Certo thought, _but Saros would also probably whip out his pocketknife at some point, and Caleb's not really in a state of mind to know how much he can take._  
Yeah, Saros was out. Too sadistic. Idris, maybe? He was tamer, but had expressed mild distaste for drug users, and might not be sympathetic to the situation...they could try, they guessed. Certo pressed the call icon on their wristband and clicked Idris, ringing echoing through their helmet until - "Hey man, what's up?"   
"I've, uh, got a bit of a strange offer."   
"Those are the best kind." he said, voice lilting curiously.   
"Well, you know my friend Caleb, right? You met him?"   
"Uhhh...hmmm...OH, yeah. Yeah, I remember."   
Certo sighed.   
"He's...uh, he really likes cloudrock? And I left for a few days, and came home to him absolutely _trashed_ , and whenever he's this high, um, sex...always...helps him come down a little easier. So he doesn't like, crash insanely hard and try to jump out of the airlock or something."   
Idris was silent for a moment.   
"Why don't you just do it?" he asked finally.  
"Oh, dude, no, absolutely not. We're not like that."   
"Well, I mean, I guess I could, then? What does he like? What can I do to him?" A hint of eagerness slipped into his voice.  
"You can do whatever you want to him as long as you don't kill or seriously injure him, and listen if he says no." Certo said flatly.   
"I'll be there in 15 minutes? Send me the coords."   
"Sure thing. I'll open the dock, you can let yourself in. Thanks, man."   
Certo hung up, quickly typed out the ship's coordinates, and sent them to Idris.   
"Hey, you almost done in there?"   
"Mmhm." Caleb hummed. He turned the water off and shook his head, water droplets flying everywhere. Certo pushed the shower curtain open, towel in hand, and wrapped him up quickly.   
"We goin to your room?" Caleb asked, winking.   
"Hmm, nope, we're gonna go get you a little snack."   
"Ooo, yummy."  
Certo corralled him into the kitchen, pushing him into the counter with a firm, "Stay." before rifling through the cupboards.   
"Crackers?" they offered, holding up a blue box.   
"Nooooo." he whined. "I want fruit."   
Certo put the crackers back and opened the fridge, pulling out a bag of grapes and thrusting them at him.   
"Fruit."   
"Mmm, s'good." Caleb mumbled, taking the bag and stuffing 4 into his mouth, chewing loudly.   
They stood in the kitchen together for a few minutes, Caleb crunching grapes, glassy eyed, and Certo staring at the door, waiting for Idris to come and take him off their hands.   
The door slid open and Idris strolled in, hands tucked casually into his pockets. His blue-green skin glimmered and he grinned at Certo with sharp, pointed teeth, lifting a hand in a wave.   
Certo nodded at him and beckoned him over, eager to finally take a nap.   
"Caleb," Certo said, pulling the bag from his hands, "this is Idris. He's gonna take care of you, okay? If he does anything you don't like, you just have to say no and he'll stop, alright?"   
Caleb turned to face Idris, eyes wide.  
"Ooo, pretty." he said, dazed. "So blue."  
"Aww, he's cute." Idris cooed, ruffling his hair.   
"He's usually not." Certo said, deadpan. "If he was sober he probably would've make a joke about fucking your mom or pulled his gun out by now."  
They sighed. "I'm going to go to bed. So, y'know, just...don't murder him and all that good stuff."  
"I'll keep him...occupied." Idris said, sticking out his tongue teasingly.   
"Gross! Good night."   
As soon as Certo left the kitchen he turned to Caleb, who was staring at him, starry-eyed.   
"Let's not do this in the kitchen." Idris suggested.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continuation of ch. 1
> 
> certo gets some "free" stuff

Okay, Caleb hated to admit it and he never _would_ admit it to Certo, but he actually...didn't loathe being on a leash. His heart fluttered whenever they yanked the lead particularly roughly, or when they coiled it tight so he only had maybe a foot of give, leaving him unable to leave their side. He would start drifting away and be yanked back _immediately_ , the leash pulled taut and Certo's hand looped firmly around it.   
Of course, he was sick of it after a little while - no one had much respect for pets in space. 

 

"Cute dog." the shop owner said, his grin sharp and predatory. "Can I pet it?"   
Caleb flushed, face going dark and hot, and Certo eyed him, considering. He hadn't been very cooperative today - he'd been extra tuggy and had pouted and whined the whole time they ran errands - Certo had to get their kicks where they could.  
 _Yeah_ , they decided, _this'll be pretty fucking funny._  
"Sure." Certo said, unphased. "He won't bite."   
"Hey -" Caleb started - but Certo cut him off, shoving three fingers into his mouth casually. The shopkeeper grinned and ran his hand through Caleb's hair, scratching lightly behind his ears. Caleb made a low whimpering noise around Certo's fingers, the shortness of the coiled leash forcing him to stay put.   
"What a good boy," the man said lowly, hand still stroking him, "so sweet for his owner, hm?"   
Certo thrust their fingers in farther, snickering at the resulting gag. The shopkeep's fingers trailed down to push his shirt up slightly, warm hand rubbing across his bare stomach.   
"He like being petted other places, too?" he asked, eyes dark. Certo glanced at Caleb, unsure. This was funny for a minute - but they really didn't want to stick around and watch him get fucked. Sensing their hesitance, the shopkeeper said, "Tell you what - you let me have him once and you can have next month's supply of Nitrate-Voidicin for free."   
Certo's eyes widened in their helmet. Well, that changed things. Nitrate-Voidicin was a necessary ingredient in the bombs they made - homemade bombs were _always_ better than store-bought, in their opinion - but the substance was expensive and at times not easily obtained. A free month's supply was like winning the lottery.   
Caleb stared at them with wide eyes, still kept quiet by Certo's gloved fingers.   
_They're not really going to whore me out_ , he thought vehemently. _Certo wouldn't do that._  
"Yeah, alright." Certo finally said. Caleb made a loud, protesting noise around their fingers, stomping his foot angrily.  
Certo leaned over and, lips just barely brushing his ear, whispered, "If you play nice I'll let you out a week early."   
Caleb quieted immediately, still scowling. In all honesty, he wasn't really sure why he was resisting - the man was attractive enough, and they'd even flirted the few times Caleb had stopped by here alone to pick something up. Maybe it was something about being traded, like an object, a currency.   
_It is a pretty good deal_ , Caleb thought, relenting. _And I probably would've ended up fucking him at some point anyways._   
Certo pulled their fingers out of his mouth and turned to face him.   
"Are you going to be good?"   
"Yes." Caleb mumbled, face red. No matter how many things he fucked, stuff like this - being talked down to like he was stupid, wearing a collar like some kind of pet - always left him embarrassed and squirming.   
"Great." Certo said, wrinkling their nose slightly. They were fine teasing Caleb - it was funny watching him get all red, like he was some sort of virgin - but actually seeing him get fucked? No.   
"So, I'll just go, and uh...be back in an hour or so."   
"Actually," the shopkeeper said, "I'd prefer if you stayed."   
"What."  
"Well, y'know...I like having an audience." he explained, eyes glinting.   
It was silent for a moment.   
"One month's supply free...and I think there's going to be a shortage soon." He drummed his fingers on the counter.  
"Fine." Certo said, teeth gritted.  
"Great!"  
He walked out from behind the counter, flipped the sign to CLOSED, and drew the curtains, leaving them bathed in dim half-daylight and the soft blue glow of the shop's floating orb lights.   
"By the way," he said, grinning at Caleb. "My name's Solomon. Don't think I ever properly introduced myself."   
"Caleb."   
"You two fucking?" Solomon asked casually, leaning against the front side of the counter.   
"Oh god no." Certo exclaimed loudly.  
"Uh huh. What's the collar for, then?"   
"He likes to wander off."   
Solomon raised an eyebrow.  
"Wasn't wearing it last time I saw you two."  
"Yeah, well, he almost got himself killed."   
"I'm right here." Caleb said, annoyed.   
"Oh, I know, sweetheart. Couldn't forget it if I tried." Solomon said, winking.   
"Gross." Certo looked away.   
It was silent for a moment.   
"Are we gonna fuck or what?" Caleb asked loudly, impatiently. "Because I'm -"  
"Shut up and bend over the counter for me, honey." Solomon interrupted quietly, his voice low and commanding.   
Certo grimaced as Caleb laid himself over the dark, faded wood, bent over at the waist.   
Solomon twisted the collar around so the d-ring was at the back and then took both of his wrists in hand, looping the thin leather leash around them and tying it tight. Caleb twisted awkwardly, his wrists bound and his hands resting on the small of his back. Solomon threaded a hand through his hair and gripped tightly, pulling his head up.   
"I'm gonna take these pants off now," he murmured in his ear, "and you're gonna stay still and be a good boy for me."   
Caleb's head thunked back down onto the counter and Solomon knelt down to untie and pull off his boots, then his socks, and then his pants and the briefs underneath them.  
Solomon pushed his legs apart, eyes hungry, and then his hand was between his legs, fingers delving into him.   
"He's already _wet_." Solomon crowed, looking back at Certo, who was now sitting stiffly on a small stool. "So cute."   
Caleb flushed deeply, embarrassed that Certo could _see_ him and that Solomon was apparently dead set on narrating the whole thing - it was downright humiliating, especially tied up like this.   
"Can we just. Can you just get on with it." Certo said flatly.   
"I like playing with my food." Solomon drawled, leaning down to suck a mark into Caleb's neck. "You're gonna be here for a while." 

 

"Come back next month for the Nitrate!" he called out after them as they left, 4 hours later.  
"Oh, we will." Certo assured him, Caleb hanging off his arm weakly, neck covered in bruises and bites and eyes glassy. 

 

Certo let him curl up next to them on their bed later, hands fisted in their shirt and knees pulled up to his chest.   
"Can't believe you whored me out for fucking Nitrate." he mumbled into their side. Certo felt a pang of guilt at how weak he sounded, how raspy and low his voice was.   
"Well, it's...expensive..." they said, trailing off.   
"S'okay." Caleb turned over onto his back, grinning up at them. "Just surprised you had it in you."   
"I'm sorry. Did he hurt you?" Certo asked, guilt finally taking over. "Some of...that...looked like it hurt."   
"Nah, wasn't bad actually. Plus I was planning on lettin' him fuck me anyways, so how mad can I really be?"   
"I feel like you should be angrier with me."   
"Well I'm not." Caleb said easily, turning back over to curl up into their side.   
It didn't sit right with them - some low, sick feeling curled up in their gut, making Certo feel horrible and nauseous and like they'd done something terribly wrong.   
"I shouldn't have done that to you."   
"I'm not upset."   
"You should have more respect for yourself than that." Certo said, forceful. "I'm sorry. I've crossed a line."   
"Certo, it's fine, really, I -"  
"It's not fine! It's not fine at all! I just _traded_ you like cattle! And you _let_ me!"   
Caleb sat up, frustrated.   
"It's literally fine! I'm not mad! I honestly enjoyed most of it so just shut up and stop being all guilty and sad because I'm not upset and it was a really good trade!"   
Certo fell silent, contemplating.   
"You _liked_ that?"   
"Yes."  
"Even the - even the thing with the...the stuff he made you drink?"   
"Oh, _especially_ that." Caleb said, snickering.   
"God you're nasty." Certo muttered.   
"Mmm, only for youuuu." he teased, sticking his tongue out.   
Certo snorted. They felt less guilty, sure, but it was still there, coiled low and deep in their gut. Caleb deserved better than that, even if he didn't agree - and Certo silently vowed to start treating him more as an equal, as a partner rather than a sidekick. They were in this together.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Certo tries drugs.

"I'm bored." Caleb grumbled.  
He was spread out on the couch, legs hanging over the arm and one hand tucked behind his head, tossing his knife up and down with the other.  
"I can tell." Certo said, elbow deep in warm, soapy sink water. "How about helping me do the dishes, champ?"  
"Absolutely not, I won that game of rock-paper-scissors fair and square."  
It was true. Certo sighed and racked another plate.  
"Let's go to Q-144!" Caleb exclaimed suddenly, whipping around on the couch.  
Certo paused for a moment, considering. Q-144 was almost entirely lawless and had no form of government, no army, no police force. The whole planet was basically one giant house party. They supposed that the two of then hadn't gone out just to have fun together in a while...and, well, Certo was sick of doing these dishes.  
"Yeah, okay, why not?" they said, draining the sink. 

Q-144 was loud and bright, all neon lights and flashing signs and strobes.  
"I can't believe you wore that." Certo muttered, looking at Caleb with distaste. Jeans, a crop top, a thick silver chain that looked like it should've been on a dog and a spiked collar...god, he was ridiculous. "You look like a goth hooker."  
"I'm _your_ goth hooker." he said, winking.  
"I wish, you'd probably be making me more money." Certo deadpanned.  
Caleb laughed loudly, slapping them on the shoulder.  
"Alright, tell you what. I'll stay totally sober tonight and you can get as fucked up as you want." he offered.  
"I don't really like...drugs..."  
Caleb squinted at them.  
"Have you ever _tried_ drugs."  
"Well. No."  
"This is your chance, buddy! This planet has some of the best shit you can get! Wait, wait, stay here I'll be right back I'm gonna go score you some grave dust!" he called, already disappearing into the crowd. Certo sighed and leaned up against the wall to wait. 

Caleb looked around, searching for the tell-tale signs of a dealer - until finally, he made eye contact with a tall, almost completely human-looking guy, his eyes intense and deep. He nodded at him through the crowd, raising his eyebrows hopefully, and the man jerked his head toward the alley across the street. Drugs were legal, yeah - but it was considered polite to do your deals in relative privacy.  
"What can I do for you?" he asked smoothly, hands tucked into his pockets.  
"Got any grave dust?"  
"Mm, sure do."  
"How much?" Caleb asked, pulling out his wallet.  
"For you?" The dealer considered him for a moment, taking in his crop top and chain and tight pants, the little bit of lipgloss he'd put on earlier. And then he said, decisively, "Nah, I don't want money."  
Caleb tucked his wallet away. He wasn't that surprised.  
He took the man's hand and lifted it to his mouth, tongue flicking over his fingertips teasingly, before taking two of them all the way into his mouth with a slight gag.  
The dealer pulled his hand away, a string of spit connecting them briefly, and pushed Caleb to his knees. 

"Got it!" Caleb said proudly, wiping his mouth and shaking the little bag of black powder at Certo. Certo eyed his mussed hair and red, bitten mouth before asking, "And what'd you _do_ for it?"  
"Not important. Less questions, more snorting. Here, I can cut you a line?"  
Yeah, Certo didn't really think they'd like drugs - but Caleb said he'd stay sober, and honestly, they were kind of curious.  
"Alright." Certo said, watching with interest as Caleb pulled a razor and a little mirror out of his small bag, shook some of the power out onto it, and pushed it into a neat, thin line.  
"I didn't give you as much as I'd take since it's your first time." he explained.  
Certo nodded. That made sense.  
"Okay, it's pretty straightforward, plug one nostril like this," he pressed finger to one side of his nose demonstratively, "and then breathe in, _hard_."  
Caleb held up the little mirror and Certo leaned forward, plugging one nostril, and snorted the line, gasping as they finished it.  
"It burns!" they said, nervous. "Is it supposed to burn?"  
"Yeah it's, like, terrible for you."  
"I don't feel anything."  
"Give it a minute," Caleb said, "and if you still don't feel anything you can do another line. But I think you should be feeling it in a little bit."  
And sure enough - a few minutes later Certo was _soaring_ , their brain short-circuiting in and out and the colors and sounds of Q-144 even brighter and more intense. The sky looked infinite and incredibly close at the same time, and Caleb blowing away a chunk of hair that'd fallen into his eyes was suddenly the most fascinating thing they'd ever seen; the way his lips pursed and his cheeks puffed out and the hair lifted up and fell differently, out of his eyes this time.  
Certo reached out and stroked a finger down his cheek, to his pink mouth, staring with intense interest as his tongue snaked out like a small, soft vine and licked the tip of their finger playfully, sharp incisors showing when he grinned.  
"Someone looks like they're feelin' it."  
Certo stared at him for a moment, not sure how to respond. They tried to say, _yes, I think I'm feeling it, it's pretty weird_ , but all that came out was, "Holy fuuuuck dude."  
"Well let's go fuckin party then!" he shouted, taking their hand and pulling them into a nearby building, the room inside dark and colorful and hot, people pressed together singing and screaming and laughing raucously. Caleb led them to the middle of the crowd, jumping excitedly when a new song started playing, something fast and chaotic.  
"I love this song!" he squealed, falling into some kind of instinctive, slutty dance routine that involved grinding on the guy behind him and lip syncing the words at Certo.  
A tall, lanky girl with blue braids snuck up behind them, tapping on the back of their helmet.  
"Hey. Helmet guy."  
"Hmm."  
Certo stared at her. She looked like - like that one chick from that thing? They couldn't remember who or what but they _knew_ she looked like _something_. But then again, they guessed, everyone looks like _something_ , so what did that even mean, and -  
"-ce with me. Hey, are you listening? Dude?"  
"Huh, sorry what?" Certo said, blinking rapidly.  
"I said dance with me!" she shouted over the music, grabbing their hand and placing it...right on her waist. Wow. Okay. Bold.  
Caleb gave him an excited smile and a thumbs up from a couple yards away, where he was being felt up (there wasn't even an _attempt_ at subtlety, jesus) by the guy he'd been dancing on earlier.  
_Good luck!_ he mouthed, making an obscene hand gesture.  
Certo turned their attention back to the girl currently pressed up against them, her dark blue hair and darker skin, the little freckles dotting her cheeks and her tight black pants.  
"Let's get outta here!" she shouted into his ear.  
"What?"  
Their drug-addled brain worked double-time, cogs whirring furiously. Get out of here? Like, like sex? They didn't really want to have sex, they'd rather just keep dancing - but she was already leading them out of the club, hand gripping theirs tightly. She tugged them down into the dark alley beside the club, shoving them into the wall roughly, pinning their wrists above their head.  
"Hey, wait, I'm not - uh, I don't -"  
"Man, you must be fucked up. Can't even talk." she laughed, hand flicking open their pants button.  
"Hey, quit it!" they said, trying to squirm out of her deceptively strong grip. She let go of their wrists to pull their pants off and, in a moment of pure panic, Certo pressed the S.O.S. button on their wristband. 

Inside the club, Caleb's own wristband buzzed insistently and flashed red, the little screen reading S.O.S.  
"Fuck." he hissed under his breath, scanning the crowd with wide eyes.  
"Hey, I gotta go. My friend's in trouble." he shouted into his dance partner's ear. "Sorry. For the record, you were totally gonna get some if this hadn't happened."  
"Can I have your number?" the alien shouted back. Caleb nodded and touched their wristbands together, the quiet _ding_ inaudible over the loud music.  
"Call me!" he shouted as he left. "We'll fuck!" 

The air outside was cool and brisk compared to the warmth of the club, and Caleb shivered (partly from the cold - but mostly it was pure anxiety. What if Certo was dead? What would he even _do_ without them?)  
"God, I told you to quit it!" a familiar voice shouted angrily from around the side of the building. Caleb pulled his gun out pressed himself flat to the wall, sneaking a look around the corner.  
The tall, blue-haired girl had Certo pinned to the wall with one hand while another was shoved down their pants. Caleb stepped out from behind the corner and pointed his gun at her, furious - Certo looked relieved to see him.  
"Back the fuck off, bitch." he snarled, shooting at the ground, 2 inches away from her feet. "Or the next one goes in your fucking head."  
She let go of Certo immediately, backing up and raising her hands placatingly.  
"Hey, look, man -" she started.  
"I fucking hate rapists." he said, finger pressing down on the trigger decisively - and blood splattered the wall behind her as she hit the ground.  
Caleb kicked her body out of the way with disgust and knelt down beside Certo, thumb rubbing soft circles into their shoulder comfortingly.  
"Hey," he said gently, "let's go home."  
"I'm sorry, it just happened so fast." Certo mumbled.  
"Mmm, yeah, that's what your dad said last night." Caleb said, wrapping Certo's arm around his shoulders and pulling them up off the ground. Certo laughed weakly at the stupid joke, pressing their face into Caleb's hair. 

"You okay?" Caleb asked quietly, both of them huddled under the blankets in his bed, fingers laced together.  
"Yeah, just - feel gross." Certo said, looking away.  
"I'm sorry. I should have done something sooner. I should have been watching more carefully."  
"Caleb, what. No. It wasn't your fault or my fault, it was _her_ fault."  
"I - okay. Okay." he said, nodding. "You're right."  
"You didn't have to kill her." Certo muttered.  
"Yes I did." Caleb snapped, sitting up suddenly. "She - she _hurt_ you, she deserves to fucking rot."  
Certo suddenly felt a surge of affection for him, for his anger on behalf of Certo and for the fire that had been in his eyes when he'd pulled the trigger; the pure hatred.  
"I would kill anyone for you." Caleb whispered. "We're - y'know, we're partners, man. No one is more important to me than you."  
"Thank you." Certo said quietly, squeezing his hand tighter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sad boy hours :( caleb doesnt like himself v much

Muffled screaming coming from Caleb's room wasn't _unusual_ , per say, but it generally didn't sound so distressed - so panicked, so laced with pure terror.   
A dull thud echoed down the hall. Certo was officially Concerned. They sighed, checked their gun's photon cartridge, and strode down the hall, kicking open the door with a heavy, booted foot.   
"Alright, what -" they started, stopping dead in their tracks at the sight of Caleb stretched out on the bed, arms tied to the headboard and legs pinned down by the large man straddling him, dripping blade in hand. His abdomen was gaping open and his eyes were wide and glistening with tears, his mouth stretched around a ball gag.   
Certo whipped their gun out, cocking it and pointing it at the unknown man.   
"And what the _fuck_ ," they snarled, "do you think you're doing?"   
"Hey man, he asked for it, I swear." the man said, pacifying. Caleb groaned his disagreement through the gag, shaking his head furiously.   
"Really?" Certo's eyes darted over to Caleb, who was staring at him with wide eyes. "Because it sure doesn't look like he asked for it."  
"The little whore was practically -"  
Certo cut him off with a shot to the head and he fell backwards off the bed, landing hard and crumpled on the floor. They shoved their gun back into their holster and unbuckled the gag, chucking it across the room in disgust.   
"I didn't -" Caleb started, desperate. Certo shook their head.   
"I know."   
And then, "Christ, we need to put pressure on this. Who the fuck thinks vivisection is kinky?"   
Certo untied his hands and grabbed his pillow, pressing it to his stomach.   
"Hold that on there. I'm going to go get our kit, we'll have to stitch you."   
Caleb nodded, wincing. Certo returned moments later, white case in hand and brow furrowed in concern.   
"Ok, lift that off. I need to disinfect it. This is going to hurt." they warned, unscrewing the plain black bottle.   
Caleb yelped loudly as Certo poured the clear liquid carefully over the wound, trying to squirm away.   
"Quit it." Certo snapped, hand coming up to press his hips back down. "We don't know where his knife has been."  
They wiped off the foam and quickly sanitized a needle before threading it and bracing a hand on his abdomen.   
"Ok, this isn't gonna feel good. Just try to stay still. Tell me if you need me to stop so you can catch your breath."   
Caleb nodded, holding his breath as the needle pierced his skin.   
They got him stitched up pretty quickly, neat little rows of black thread dotting across his lower abdomen like a grim smile.   
Certo pulled a roll of gauze out of the case and motioned for him to lift up so they could wrap it all the way around his torso, covering the stitches in a clean white layer of bandage.   
"Thanks." Caleb said quietly, standing up to go...somewhere. He didn't know where; just somewhere that wasn't here, in this room, on this bed, with Certo staring at him so intensely.   
"We need to talk about this." Certo said, standing up and planting themself firmly between him and the door.   
"What's there to talk about? I'm fine."   
"Uh, I beg to differ? You almost just bled out? He would have literally killed you if I hadn't walked in?"  
"Well, he seemed normal when I met him." Caleb said defensively.   
"And _where_ did you meet him?" Certo asked, arms crossed.   
He mumbled something under his breath.   
"Didn't quite catch that."  
"I met him at a bar." he said loudly, avoiding eye contact.   
"Uh huh, and which bar?"   
"Disintegrate." Caleb offered reluctantly.   
Certo's eyes widened in their helmet. Caleb went to Disintegrate _alone_?   
"You went there _alone_? You're 5'6! And look like you're 16! You could have been killed! Or, or kidnapped and prostituted -"  
"Yum." he interrupted, sticking his tongue out.   
"That's not funny, you psycho! That place is the lowest of the low, no wonder you attracted a sadistic freak!"   
"God, why does it _matter_ , I'm alive, aren't I?"   
"I don't know how to explain to you that you should fucking care about yourself!" Certo shouted suddenly, hands curling into fists at their sides.   
Caleb fell silent, eyes wide and arms uncrossing to hang loosely. His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. Certo noticed that his cheek was starting to bruise, a dark purple streak slowly showing itself. He'd clearly been hit, _hard_.   
Certo reached out their hand and brushed their gloved fingers along his cheekbone gently, eyes softening.  
"I just. I am so tired of watching you let people hurt you because you think you deserve it or something."   
"I don't think that." Caleb snapped, looking away, face flushing.   
"Caleb."  
"I don't."   
"I don't believe you." Certo said. "I know you. I see what you let other people do to you."   
It was silent for a moment.  
"I see what you do to yourself." Certo added quietly.   
"Please don't." Caleb's voice cracked.   
"I don't know why it's so hard for you to just _keep yourself safe_. I don't want it to be this hard for you."   
"That's what she said."   
Certo stared at him for a moment, somewhere in between incredibly furious and terrifically sad - and then, in slow, measured movements, they walked out of his room, shutting the door behind them and leaving him standing by his bed, shirtless and sewn back together and half-trembling. 

Two days later Caleb stumbled into the kitchen, giggling, with a tall, light green-skinned man in tow and his neck already red and sore-looking.   
Certo looked up from their book sharply, eyeing both of them as the green man slammed Caleb into the kitchen counter, fingers digging into his hips tightly and tongue forcing itself into his mouth.  
"Nasty little slut." Certo heard him hiss lowly before digging sharp teeth into Caleb's neck, his eyes darkening as little beads of blood welled up. He licked his lips, coppery and red. "Gonna slit that cute throat after you blow me."   
"Okay, nope!" Certo interjected, standing up, gun in hand. They pointed it at him. "Get out."   
The man looked up, startled.   
"Who the hell are you?" he asked indignantly.   
"You have 10 seconds before I put a hole in your head. Leave."   
And, thoroughly cowed by the tall, helmeted Certo, the man backed off and walked quickly through the weird living room-dining-room-kitchen.   
"Hey, come on, they're bluffing!" Caleb called after him. There was no response.  
They heard his ship leave the dock a minute later.   
"What the hell, dude?" Caleb said angrily, whipping around to face Certo. "I was totally gonna get some."   
"It looked like you were totally gonna get fucking murdered."   
"God, it would've been fine! I'm a big boy!" he snapped. "What, are you jealous or something? Huh? That why you've been such a fucking bitch lately? Because you can, you can do _whatever_ you fucking want. Anyone can! I don't care!" Caleb shouted, throwing up his arms.   
"No." Certo said coldly. "I actually don't want to abuse and dehumanize you, but thanks for offering."   
"Then what do you _want_?"   
"I want you," they started, taking a step forward, "to stop fucking people who want to leave you in a broken, bloody pile on your bedroom floor."   
Caleb stared at them for a moment, and then stormed out. His bedroom door slammed so hard it made Certo clench their teeth. 

The bathroom was a mess. Caleb was gone. 

A week later, he strolled back in, hands tucked casually into his pockets, and Certo - Certo, who had spent the whole week brimming with anxiety, positive that he was never coming back and terrified that he was going to get himself killed - Certo was furious.   
"Where have you been."   
"Out." Caleb replied easily, leaning up against the kitchen counter.   
" _Out?_ "  
"S'what I said."   
"You leave. For a _week_. And you waltz back in here and say that you've been _out_." Certo snarled.  
"Look, can we just drop it?"   
"No."  
"Please -"  
"No."   
"I was so worried about you." Certo said, angry. "Please just -" and then suddenly Caleb was crying; big, pearly tears rolling down his cheeks and pained gasps forcing themselves up his throat, hands trembling.   
"I'm sorry." he cried. "I'm sorry I just didn't know what to do."   
Certo wrapped him in a hug, hand pressing his wet face into their shoulder.   
"I got so scared and I know that I shouldn't have gone to that bar and I knew he would hurt me and I knew the other guy was gonna hurt me and I don't know why I keep doing this I just - I just -" he gasped into their jacket, shoulders heaving. "I just know that I'm not a very good person."   
"You are." Certo said quietly.  
"No I'm -"  
"You _are_. You've never killed anyone who didn't deserve it. You fucking - you could practically be considered your own charity with how many people you fuck. God."   
Caleb laughed weakly into their shoulder at that.   
"I'll - I'll stop bringing home psychos." he mumbled, face still pressed to their shoulder. "I promise."   
"Good."  
"I'm not going to stop fucking people -"  
"You mean getting fucked."   
"- right, I'm not going to stop fucking people."   
"Well, I'd never ask that of you. Just. Less people who actually want to kill you."   
"Okay."  
"Maybe less people in general."   
"Right, no."   
They both laughed, tired and hugging and grateful that the other was still here, was still _home_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> certo gets kidnapped.

The job was supposed to be easy. Get in, get out - but a rival thief compound had been waiting for them, tucked behind doors and into dark corners with guns at the ready. They hadn't been prepared at all. They'd gotten split up when they were running - Certo had gone left, Caleb right, and there was no time to turn around - and when Caleb finally made it back to the ship, they weren't there.  
It took 20 minutes for the panic to set in.  
_They have Certo._ Caleb thought, hands tugging at his hair and mind racing. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._  
What was he supposed to do? There had to have been at least 15 of them, how was Caleb supposed to fucking get through all of them when they knew he was coming?  
"Okay," he muttered to himself, opening up the weapon closet, "okay, I can do this. I fucking got this."  
Caleb strapped on a thigh holster with a knife and a ray-gun in it, slung an A-33 photon automatic onto his back, grabbed the _good_ gloves - the ones with spiked knuckles - and, because he was pretty sure he'd spotted some gas bombs hooked to their belts, he strapped on his filter mask, the thick black fabric covering half his face.  
Certo's rarely-used sword hung on the wall of the closet, large and sharp and intimidating.  
_Yeah, that looks pretty fuckin' cool._  
Caleb strapped it to his back with the A-33. 

Their hideout fucking sucked. It was in an abandoned factory which was tacky and also completely impractical - you couldn't fly a building away if shit got too messy.  
_Idiots._ Caleb seethed from his stakeout position. _Fucking amateur wannabes._  
Caleb re-laced his boots, checked his ammo, glanced at the sky again. It would be nighttime soon.

The first two guards went down easy - two quick shots to the head and no screaming, just the dull _thud_ of bodies hitting the ground.  
The third guard, deeper in the factory, was a little more difficult, had a little more fight in him. They sparred for a few minutes before Caleb finally got his head, face smeared with red and sword dripping blood.  
The next guards were in a pack of three - all armed with large machine guns. He peeked out from behind the door quickly and bullets rained down on the metal doors, loud and fast.  
"Aw, fellas," he called, pulling a bomb out of his pocket, "I know I'm hot, but how're we supposed to do anything if you shoot your load so quick?" And with that, he leaned out and threw the bomb into the room, covering his ears and bracing for the explosion.  
Two of them were blown to bits- the other was only injured, albeit badly. Caleb pressed the barrel of his gun to his forehead, looking down at him coldly.  
"Beg me." he said.  
The man stared up at him, eyes wide and panicked.  
"P-please don't." he whispered.  
"Please don't not shoot you? Sure."  
"Wait -" but Caleb cut him off with a shot to the head, grinning.  
The patrolling guards were more difficult; they were on the move, harder to find, but Caleb was determined. He was going to kill _every_ fucking person who had a hand in this.  
The gun was too loud to use at this point, unless he really needed to. He was sure they were already looking for him - someone had to have found the bodies by now.  
Caleb crept down the dark hallway, gripping Certo's sword tightly, steps light and careful. He pressed himself flat against the wall and peeked around the corner, breathing a sigh of relief at the guard strolling the opposite way. He tightened his grip, shook his hair out of his eyes, and stepped out of the doorway. The sword sliced cleanly through his neck. He didn't even have time to realize that he was dying.  
_5 down._ he thought, wiping his face. _Everyone else in this fucking building left to go._

Low murmurs came from behind one of the doors, accompanied by the occasional loud laugh or _thump_. Caleb re-sheathed his sword on his back and slung his A-33 off his shoulder, checking to make sure the cartridge was full. It sounded like there was at least 4 of them in there.  
He checked the doorknob slowly, carefully - and, holy shit, it wasn't even locked - before twisting his wrist and kicking the door open in one fluid, quick movement, already firing before the door even opened. The five of them had been huddled around a table, poker chips stacked high and a pile in the center, completely unsuspecting. They'd barely even had time to pull their guns out - "Oh _fuck_ , he's back -" - before there was a hole ripped through their abdomen, or arm, or neck. Caleb took care of the ones who'd survived the initial shots quickly, getting more and more anxious to find Certo; they hadn't been in any of these rooms.  
He turned and went back out to the hallway, glancing left and right, not sure which way would be better. And then, from the right side, he heard a very, very faint, "Did you hear that?" from inside one of the rooms.  
With his gun at the ready and at least 3/4 of a cartridge left, he stalked down the hall, stopping in front of a couple doors to listen, until finally, he heard a loud slap and a low groan behind one of them.  
Out of patience, he kicked the door open, gun held tight and finger twitching on the trigger.  
Certo's wrists were tied together behind a pole and they sat on the ground, slumped over and helmet-less. Two orange-skinned women and a tallish man whipped around at the loud crashing noise, and Caleb fired quickly and efficiently, putting shots straight through each of their foreheads.  
Blood-smeared and sweating, he knelt down beside Certo and quickly cut the ropes around their wrists, scowling at the bruising left from the tight bonds.  
"You good?" Certo asked, voice low and rough. And then, squinting, "Is that my sword?"  
"Where's your helmet?" he asked softly, brushing a comforting hand through their hair like Certo had done to him so many times. They visibly tensed at the unexpected touch and Caleb let his hand drop to his side, trying not to be offended by the reaction.  
"Over there." Certo jerked their head to the left, rubbing their wrists with a pained expression.  
Caleb picked it up from where it'd been tossed into the corner and handed it to them, turning around to fiddle with his thigh holster while they put it back on.  
"I'm good."  
"Cool." Caleb turned back around. "Alright, let's get you up."  
He knelt down, wrapped Certo's arm around his shoulders, and stood them both up, Certo on shaky legs and Caleb struggling a little underneath their weight.  
"Mmkay, back to the ship we go, that's great, just - yep, okay, I got it."  
Slowly, they made their way back to the ship, collapsing as soon as the door closed.  
"Fuuuuuuuck." Certo groaned.  
"Yeah."  
It was silent for a moment.  
"Let's get off this fucking shithole planet." Caleb muttered.  
"Hey."  
"Huh."  
"Thanks for - for not. Like. Leaving me to die at the hands of gross amateurs." Certo said quietly.  
"I would never."  
"How many people did you have to go through? Also, you have blood on your face."  
"Ehh, 15, give or take?" Caleb made a so-so hand motion.  
"You took the sword cuz you thought it'd look cool, huh."  
"No, I -" he started.  
"So manly." Certo teased. "That thing's practically as big as you."  
"Just for that, you're not getting it back."  
"Keep it." Certo said, snickering. "Makes you look shorter, though."  
"I just saved you and you're mocking my height!" Caleb exclaimed.  
"Because you're like, 4 feet tall."  
"Tall enough for your mom." he shot back.  
"Uh huh."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> why does every chapter get more depressing am i okay
> 
>  
> 
> caleb does bad drugs. its not a good time.

Caleb was dying.  
Everything was too loud, too close, too _much_ \- he couldn't think.   
He was curled up in the corner of his room, trembling, with his hands pressed over his ears and eyes squeezed shut tightly, back to the wall, knees up to his chest.   
Low, wheezing sobs forced themselves up his throat but there were no tears; his face was dry and splotchy, lower lip bleeding.   
He couldn't remember anything but...anything but smoking _something_ , what did he smoke? He remembered someone's voice - _woah man, you should slow down, that stuff's fuckin' strong_ \- and then it felt really good, and then worse, and then he swears he's 14 again and the cuff on his ankle is cold and the chain's only got 5 feet or so of give and someone comes in twice a day to shove more cloudrock in his face because _god, having a living sex toy isn't any fun if he's going through withdrawls,huh?_  
He remembers making it back to the ship - stumbling through the kitchen blindly and resisting the urge to curl up in the cupboard beneath the sink, being simultaneously relieved and heartbroken that Certo wasn't home - and forcing himself to go to his room and lock the door, to curl up in the corner and be as quiet and small as possible.   
He clawed at his skin furiously, nails leaving red streaks up and down his arms and legs. Hands were on him; he could still feel them on him, in him, could still feel that cold shackle welded shut around his ankle.   
_It's not enough._ he thought, desperate.   
Deliriously high, Caleb reached a hand up and yanked his dresser drawer open, fumbling blindly for a moment before his hand brushed against cool, sharp metal.   
_Yes._  
He yanked his pants down, one-handed, and held the razor to his thigh.   
_Yes yes yes yes._  
But looking at his legs, Caleb hesitated, hand shaking.   
_You shouldn't._  
Old scars criss-crossed up and down his thighs, some still deep purples and pinks and some faded to white puffy lines, reduced to faint memories of pain and bad nights. Certo had seen them - had walked in on him getting fucked or had to help him drunkenly shower or come down from a nasty high too many times not to. He could tell that they'd seen them from the way they watched him a little too closely after a particularly bad night, from how they sometimes plucked a knife from his hand and herded him out of the kitchen with a, "God, I can't watch you mutilate these poor onions anymore. Go watch T.V. or masturbate or something."  
He'd had hookups who'd asked, before - after all, they littered his upper arms and tallied up and down his legs; it was easy to miss in the dark, but not in the shower afterwards - and he always said some stupid shit, like, "Your mom's a cougar in more ways than one," or whatever. He didn't talk about it.  
His hand trembled dangerously, the tip of the razor just barely digging into his leg.   
"Fuuuuuck." he hissed lowly, teeth gritted so hard his jaw ached.   
He could still feel their hands on the inside of his thighs, running up his legs and shoving his shirt up and wrapping around his neck because _he gets so much tighter when you choke 'im, christ._  
They were under his skin, imbedded so deeply into his flesh that he couldn't ever possibly bleed it out - but he could try, couldn't he?  
Caleb swiped violently, the large gash gaping and bloodless. It would start bleeding, it just took a moment. He knew. He'd done it enough times. He made one more, just beneath it - and then suddenly his arm wasn't part of his body, was detached from him. It just kept going and going, slicing and slashing and ripping the blade through his leg while his chest heaved uncontrollably and his teeth clenched tight. There was nothing else. He had to get it out, would pry his nails up if it meant that he wouldn't be able to feel them scuttling around under his skin, would gouge out his eyes and peel his skin back and force his fingers down his throat until he died if that's what it took.  
The cuff was so cold it burned into his skin. He could still feel it.   
"Caleb."   
He _swears_ he can still feel it.   
"Can you hear me?"   
Caleb looked up, eyes wide and wet, teeth chattering loudly. Someone tall and dark and helmeted knelt in front of him, their head level with his. Who - what?   
He couldn't think. Were they back? Was he on that ship again, was he - was he? His fingers scrabbled desperately at his left ankle, feeling for the metal cuff and the chain dangling from it.   
A strong hand grabbed his right wrist, holding it tight. Gloves - Caleb stared at the gloves, and suddenly he remembered. 

_"Are you okay? Fuck, I knew these guys were scumbags, but...god, fuck. How long have they had you down here?"_   
_"I don't know." Caleb whispered, staring resolutely down at the bedsheets._   
_A gloved hand touched his ankle softly, finger looping under the heavy cuff and testing the give._   
_"Christ. Let's get this cuff off you, huh? I won't hurt you. I promise."_

"I'm taking this." Certo said firmly, other hand pulling the razor free from his tight, desperate grip. Caleb made a panicked, protesting noise, twisting his wrist frantically, reaching for it.   
"Sorry bud. You're done for tonight. Let's go get you cleaned up, huh?"   
Caleb stared at them, trying to force his mouth to form words.   
"I - I fffucking - could feel it." he slurred. "Still. Still there."  
"What'd you take?" Certo asked quietly.   
"Dunno. Can't 'member."   
Certo sighed and scooped him up carefully, carrying him down the hallway to the bathroom with surprising ease and setting him on the sink counter.   
"Oookay," they muttered, opening the cabinet, "disinfectant, gauze, med tape, all that fun stuff, great, cool."   
Each item was pulled out and lined up neatly on the opposite side of the counter.   
Certo knelt down and grabbed a smaller hand towel from under the sink, before wetting it with some water and disinfectant and pressing it to Caleb's leg, gently cleaning away the clotting blood. They were both silent while Certo worked; cleaning and wrapping the wounds, securing the loose ends with medical tape.   
"Come on," they said quietly, helping him off the counter, "let's get you in bed."   
Certo led him down the hallway to their room, locking the door behind them as they entered.   
The clicking of the lock sounded like _Nothing will get you here._  
Like _I promise you are safe._  
Certo pushed the blankets back and put him to bed, pulling them back over him and then climbing in beside him. Caleb turned over and pressed his forehead to their shoulder, hands coming up to fist in their shirt, and Certo reached down and scratched his head gently, rubbing behind his ears like he was a dog.   
"You're not sure what you took?" they asked again.   
"Nuh uh. Somethin' you could smoke. Made me feel real bad. Kept - kept remembering."   
"What'd you remember?"   
"When I was - how, how we met."   
Certo's hand stilled in his hair momentarily before resuming the soft petting.   
"Do you wanna talk about it?" they murmured.   
"I just. I felt like I could still feel that cuff around my ankle." he whispered. "Like they were still..."   
Certo remembered meeting Caleb. They knew that they both remembered, but they'd never talked about it - not like this. There was a brief discussion the immediate day after Certo had raided the ship, but Caleb had brushed off any concern, any attempts to talk about what'd happened, and Certo had respected his privacy. But now - now they felt as though something had to be said. As though they'd almost be doing him a disservice if something wasn't.   
"They're all dead, you know." they said quietly. "Had em tied up and was gonna turn them in cus I heard they were selling to kids. I went back and...and killed them all after I saw you."   
"Good." Caleb whispered viciously.   
"I'll never let anyone hurt you like that again. Never. You're _safe_ with me."   
"I know."   
"I think you should take it easy for a while. With - with drugs. You're drug-grounded."   
"Mmkay." Caleb hummed quietly.   
"I'm serious."  
"I know."   
_It must be really bad this time._ Certo thought. Caleb never agreed to something like that so easily, especially without an ultimatum or threat.   
"Try to sleep, okay? You'll feel better when you wake up."   
"Mmkay."   
Caleb was out cold minutes later, snoring softly into Certo's shoulder, hand still fisted in their shirt.

"Hey, where'd that guy go?"   
The taller alien took a hit, exhaling slowly.   
"Man, he ran outta here a while ago. Pulled a gun on me and screamed at me not to touch him."   
The guy standing in the doorway frowned, disappointed.   
"Damn, that blows. I was totally gonna get some."  
"I dunno dude, he was pretty freaked. I think he smoked too much, he seemed oooooout of it, like, forreal."   
"I hope he's alright," he said, eyebrows knit together, "I thought he was pretty cool. Maybe I'll see if anyone around here knows him, see if I can get his number or something."   
"Knock yourself out, dude. He didn't even want me to help him up off the floor, let alone put my goddamn dick in him."   
"Huh."

Certo fell asleep shortly after Caleb.  
 _Morning will come soon_ , they told themself, eyes half-shut, _and things will be better._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> calebs past owo. 
> 
> also space age is different than human earth age so 13 isnt as young as earth 13 idk

(Caleb was 12. He was 12 and he _knew_ something was wrong with him; that there had to be a reason why he hated what he saw in the mirror so much, why his name sounded wrong, why the sight of his developing chest made him so intensely uncomfortable. Seeing the neighborhood boys strip their shirts off during the warmer months always made him a little nauseous, made his chest ache with _want_. Their voices dropped while his only got higher, they got hairier and his mom bought him a pink razor and told him that boys liked girls who were soft. He was too scared to say _I don't think I'm a girl_ , so he didn't, and he kept faking it and faking it and faking it until he just couldn't anymore.)

("We need to get you a dress for Sunday." his mom announced, peeking her head into his messy room. Caleb laid in bed, facing the wall, blanket pulled up to his chin and tucked around him tightly. He didn't respond.  
"Hellooo? Anyone in here?"  
Caleb already felt his lower lip trembling, his chest getting tight and heavy and his throat swollen. He thought about having to put on dress after dress, having to shave his legs for whatever inane event his mom wanted to drag him to, having to do his hair and put lipstick on and have everyone comment on how _pretty_ he looked. It made him feel sick.  
"I - honey? Are you crying? Baby, what's wrong?" His sat on the bed beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder.  
"I can't do this anymore." he sobbed. "I'm gonna go crazy, I can't do it anymore."  
"Do what?" his mom urged, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.  
"I can't - I can't pretend to be a girl anymore when I know I shouldn't be and -"  
"What?"  
His mom sounded confused, a touch of disgust seeping into her voice.  
"I'm not a girl, I'm not, something's wrong with me," Caleb pleaded tearfully, "I want to be a boy."  
"Oh, honey...it's okay, we're gonna get you some help. You're just sick, sweetpea. You're sick, and I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner."  
His mom's hand tightened on his shoulder, her mouth set in a firm line.)

(The doctor asked him a lot of questions.)

(He's standing in the bathroom, scissors in hand, chunks of hair sticking to the sides of the sink. He feels reborn. He feels brand fucking new.) 

("Can't you see that you're fucking delusional?" his mom shouted, shaking him.  
Caleb sobbed, trying to twist free.  
"Get off me you fucking psycho, get off me get off me GET OFF ME!" he screamed, two hands planting themselves firmly on her chest and shoving her away.)

("You can be my little girl again," she said, hands clasped tightly together, "or you can get the fuck out of my house.")

(It's not a debate. He packs his shit and slams the door on his way out.)

Caleb leaves home at 13, with a backpack and newly-short hair and absolutely no plan, no destination. He has enough for a ticket off of Delta-Z-7, the suburb planet that he used to call home, to Delta-Z, but when the ship touched down and he stared up at the tall, looming buildings, he realized he had no fucking idea what he was doing.  
_He had no fucking idea how to survive out here._

His first night on the street someone offers him 50 credits for a blowjob. More out of frustration than anything, he snapped, "I'm a boy, fuck off."  
"You're naive as fuck, too, if you think _that_ matters out here." The man's eyes softened as he took in Caleb's beat-up backpack and worn pants, his I-did-this-in-my-bathroom-without-asking-my-mom haircut.  
"What's your name, kiddo?" he asked.  
"I -" he hesitated. "I dunno."  
"Might wanna figure that out."  
It was silent for a moment. And then, "Tell you what, kid, you can stick with me for a while so you don't get killed." He paused. " _And_ , because I'm feeling nice, I'll even get you the drugs you need."  
"Drugs?"  
"You wanna look right, don't you? Christ, they don't teach kids anything nowadays." he said, shaking his head.  
_Might wanna figure that out._  
"Caleb."  
"Huh?"  
"My name. It's Caleb."  
The man grinned widely, and wrapped an arm around his thin shoulders.  
"Well, there we go. I'm Latharos." 

Caleb's been with him for 5 months, his voice notably deeper and his adam's apple starting to show and his legs hairier, when Latharos finally gets his blowjob. He's not that surprised, not really - he knew that just because he was nice doesn't mean he's not a creep, so when Latharos sneaks up behind him late one night and puts a hand on his hip, thumb hooking in the waistband of his shorts and teeth biting gently at his neck, he lets it happen. How could he not? Latharos had taught him so much, had helped him without getting anything in return - it was only fair that he let him have this, Caleb decided. 

6 months in, Caleb kills for the first time. Latharos hands him the gun, points it at the man's head for him.  
"All you have to do is pull the trigger." he whispered, lips brushing Caleb's ear. Caleb shakes like a leaf, trembles before Latharos and God and the universe and this man who he's about to kill - this man who'd only pickpocketed him, who hadn't _hurt_ him.  
"He stole from us." Latharos snarled in his ear, his grip on the gun firm and absolute. "Pull the fucking trigger."  
And Caleb does.  
The thief's blood splatters across his face and he feels condemned.  
"There." Latharos murmured, running a hand through his hair. "Doesn't it feel good to get rid of people who've wronged you?"  
He says yes, and later that night he cuts a line into his thigh like it's a religion and begs the universe and the dead man to absolve him of sin.

He and Latharos have been together 7 months when Caleb first tries cloudrock. It makes colors burn and swirl, makes his head feel clear and his body feel floaty and invincible. They fuck and do drugs and steal shit and he's never had more fun in his life. Latharos seems to like having him around - he brings him to parties with other crooks and bounty hunters and lets him hang off his arm like a piece of jewelry, strokes his hair and calls him _my pretty boy_. Latharos's friends like him well enough; they flirt with him and tell him he's handsome, they let him try out their guns and drink their liquor and snort or smoke whatever he wants. It's incredible. He feels so free. 

It all gets fucked up when the government shuts down the biggest black market on their side of the galaxy. Cloudrock was scarce, and Latharos was far more dependent on it than Caleb was. Caleb's withdrawal was a few days of shivering and vomiting, Latharos's was borderline fatal. He was losing his fucking mind without it after taking it so regularly for so many years. He was desperate, would do _anything_ for a line - so when a group of dealers offered him a brick...he couldn't turn it down.  
"What do you want for it?" Latharos asked, eyes bloodshot and hands trembling.  
The tall alien stared at him and Caleb for a moment, considering, before saying, "We'll take him."  
"Uh, I don't think -" Caleb started.  
"Deal."  
Caleb whipped his head around lightning-quick, eyes wide and pleading.  
"W-what? You can't - you can't just _trade_ me." he said, disbelieving.  
The alien threw the brick at Latharos, shrugging.  
"I think he just did, kid." And then, to his partners, "Put him down below."  
They dragged Caleb down beneath the main floor kicking and crying, fists flying and eyes brimming with tears.  
"Please don't leave me here!" he screamed at Latharos's retreating back. "You can't just fucking leave me here!"  
Latharos paused for a moment - like he was going to turn around, and say that it was a joke and kiss his forehead and take him back to the ship - and then kept walking. He didn't even look back at him. 

(He sobs when they weld the cuff shut around his ankle.) 

On the first night, he fights. The tall alien from before saunters down the steps into the hull of the ship, where Caleb is chained to the bed, and tells him that if he knows what's good for him, he'll be a good boy and spread his legs. Caleb agrees, feigning shy avoidance of eye contact and fluttering his lashes, and when the alien climbs on top of him, he sinks his teeth into the side of his neck so hard that he draws blood.

He wasn't sure how long he was down there. He spent most of it in a drugged-out haze, half-awake and high out of his fucking mind, because they figured out pretty quick that forcing drugs up his nose made him a hell of a lot more pliant. They still gave him his injection every week. Most of the dealers preferred him looking male. 

The shooting upstairs had stopped a few minutes ago. He could hear footsteps on the stairs and squeezed his eyes shut tight, breathing hard.  
"Are you okay? Fuck, I knew these guys were scumbags, but...god, fuck. How long have they had you down here?"  
A tall, helmeted figure stood in front of him, voice concerned and horrified.  
"I don't know." Caleb whispered, staring resolutely down at the bedsheets.  
A gloved hand touched his ankle softly, finger looping under the heavy cuff and testing the give.  
"Christ. Let's get this cuff off you, huh? I won't hurt you. I promise."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Certo and Caleb's first 1.5/2 years together. It's hard on everyone.

The first week is weird. Certo's not used to sharing their ship with someone, to thinking about how their actions might affect someone else. And this kid is like, 14, and spent the last month or so being repeatedly raped and drugged - Certo wouldn't know where to begin with a normal teenager, let alone a traumatized one. They're not really sure what to...do...with him. 

The first step is giving him his own room.   
"This is yours." Certo said awkwardly, standing in the doorway. The room was identical to theirs, and right across the hall.   
"There's. A bed. And the bathroom is there." Certo jerked their head toward the nearest door. "I'll be right across the hall of you need anything."  
Caleb doesn't wake them up to ask for anything - but the sound of his violent retching has Certo jerking awake, heart hammering. 

Caleb's withdrawal makes Certo's stomach turn. He vomits for hours even though he doesn't have anything to vomit up, shakes and trembles constantly, wakes up from what little sleep he can get sobbing and begging Certo to please, please just put him out of his misery - one particularly bad night, he presses a gun into Certo's hand and points it at his forehead, eyes wide and pleading.   
_How could anyone do this to a kid?_ Certo thinks, nauseated. _How could anyone do this to anyone?_  
When his withdrawal symptoms finally subside, he's quiet, scared. He stays in his room most of the time. Certo's pretty sure he's sneaking out at night to eat, and they start making two plates for dinner and leaving one in the fridge. It's tense and kind of awkward and it finally all comes to a head one night, when Certo wakes up from a particularly pleasant (read: sexual) dream, convinced that they're being attacked to find Caleb straddling them, half-naked. Any lingering arousal immediately dissipated.   
"Who the fu - wh - what are you _doing_?" Certo asked, incredulous.   
Caleb flushed and rolled his hips suggestively, grinding down onto them.   
"Doing - doing my job?" Caleb said quietly, a touch of confusion in his voice. "I heard you. When I was walking down the hall."   
Certo, thoroughly shaken, sat up and firmly pushed him off of them.   
" _Doing your job_?"  
Caleb stared up at them, lost.   
"Isn't that why you took me? I'm yours now, right?"  
"What - no, no absolutely not, I would never hurt you like that. Were you...have you just been waiting for me to make some, some creepy move on you? To _rape_ you?" Certo asked, horrified.   
"I didn't - I don't understand what kind of game this is." Caleb whispered, panicked.  
 _What the fuck did they do to him?_ Certo thought.   
Caleb was looking at them, eyes big and glistening, lower lip trembling, before he choked out, "Please just tell me what you want. I'll do it, please don't try to trick me I promise I'm a really good boy and I take orders really well now and, and please just don't get rid of me don't make me go back -"  
Certo, in a moment of sudden softness and pure empathy for this poor fucking kid, tugged him into their arms and held him tight, petting his hair softly.  
"I'm not going to make you go back." they assured him. "You'll _never_ have to go back there again."   
It was quiet for a moment, the dark room filled with Caleb's sniffling and Certo's calm, steady breaths.   
"I did not take you from that ship to have sex with you." they said lowly, firmly. "I'm not interested in you like that, and I do not own you. Okay?"   
"What am I supposed to do?" Caleb asked quietly, voice small and lost.  
"Whatever you want." Certo replied easily. "The universe is yours."

 _Okay, so, maybe telling him to do whatever he wanted was a bad idea._ Certo found themself thinking about a week later, as they laid in bed and winced at the loud moaning coming from Caleb's bedroom.   
It stopped about 20 (terribly long) minutes later, and Certo heard a small ship leave the dock.   
_Thank god._   
They waited for a few moments until they heard Caleb's soft footsteps and the soft opening and closing of cupboards - and then they got up, full of intent, and walked down the hall to the kitchen.   
"Uh. Caleb."   
_How do I have this conversation jesus christ._   
Caleb whipped around, a little grin on his face.   
"Oh! Hi! Look!" he exclaimed, pulling a wad of credits out of his sweatpants pocket. He handed them to Certo, looking up at them expectantly.   
"What."  
"What?"  
"Why did you just give me -" Certo counted them quickly "- 200 credits?"  
"Is it not enough?" Caleb asked, worried. "I only kept 50, that's the deal I had last time."   
Certo felt their heart drop into their stomach, heavy and cold.  
"Caleb," they started, voice shaking slightly, "did you just have sex with that man for money?"   
"Well, yeah?" he said, brow furrowed. "I can't just - I can't just _freeload_."

_Latharos coaxed him into the hotel room, a hand on his lower back._   
_"It'll be okay, kiddo. We're just a little short on cash, I need you to do this for me, alright?"_   
_"I don't want to." Caleb protested quietly, voice low and scared._   
_"You live on my ship," Latharos said, voice suddenly cold, "and eat my food, and have drugs that I graciously fucking provided pumping through you, keeping you from looking like a little fucking girl, and you have the gall to tell me no?"_   
_Caleb had started trembling sometime in the middle of his little rant._   
_"I don't fucking like freeloaders." he snarled, hand sliding up to fist in Caleb's hair._

"If you want to help me work, that's fine. I'll teach you." Certo said. Little spiels from the parenting book they read echoed through their head - _Be firm, but offer opportunities to compromise. Listen to your child. Try to understand their point of view._ "But I absolutely will not allow you to prostitute yourself."   
Caleb's lower lip started trembling, his eyes welling up.   
"I can't do anything right!" he cried, hands pressed over his face. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."   
_Sometimes, children will allow their emotions to build up, and then will express their feelings in extreme ways, such as crying, hitting, or screaming. Reassure them that it is okay to feel this way._  
"Hey, hey," Certo said, pressing his face into their shoulder, "shh, you're fine. It's okay to be confused. I know that this is all - all kind of new, for you. The whole 'being treated like a person' thing."   
They winced. That came out a little wrong.   
_Try to find activities that you and your child can do together._  
"How about I teach you how to shoot?" Certo offered. "If you learn how to use all my gear, you can start coming on jobs with me. _That's_ how we make our money."  
"Okay." Caleb said, sniffling.  
Good. Okay. Certo could do this. 

"Oh god, you shoot like a criminal, and not in a good way." Certo said, examining Caleb's form. "Here, hold it like this."   
Caleb peered at their hand for a moment, and then adjusted his grip.   
"Better." Certo encouraged.   
Over the course of a week, they taught him how to shoot all of the guns, how to activate and throw their homemade nitrate bombs, some knife-fighting skills, and basic self-defense. Caleb was a quick and eager learner - though, maybe a little _too_ eager during Certo's ground grappling and takedown lesson. Certo did their best to ignore how red his face was during it. 

They start going on jobs together after a month. Caleb trails after them like a puppy, wide-eyed and occasionally bloodstained, gripping his gun like it might try to run away from him. All in all, he's not a bad partner. He doesn't hesitate to blow people's heads off (which, Certo should probably be more concerned about that) and it's nice to have someone (even though that someone is an emotionally unstable teenager) watching their back. So, yeah, for a while, it's good. And then when Caleb turns 15 - when he starts to really realize that he's his own person, that Certo isn't suddenly going to kick him out or beat him, that he can act out - shit starts getting fucked up. 

"What are you doing?" Certo snarled, yanking the still-burning joint out of Caleb's hand.   
"Uh, I _was_ smoking this dope shit I got from Zeplon-55." he said, voice slightly raspy.   
"I thought we agreed that there was no smoking in the communal areas." Certo crushed the joint under their boot. "And you shouldn't be smoking anyways."   
"We're not having this discussion again."   
Certo sighed, frustrated, and Caleb stood up off the couch and sauntered into his room, shutting the door.   
He came out about 10 minutes later, in tight black jeans and boots, his eyes dark and lined, a spiked collar and a metal chain hanging around his neck.   
"And where are you going dressed like that?" Certo called out after him as he walked through the kitchen.   
"Out." Caleb said flatly.   
"Out where?"  
Caleb swung his head around, smirking.   
"Somewhere where someone'll _gladly_ buy me a drink."   
_It's important to give your child reasonable limitations and guidelines._   
"No one over 40!" Certo shouted after him as he climbed into the small commuter ship.   
_I would rather it be no one at all._ they thought, wincing. 

Caleb stumbles in much, much later, with a tall blue-skinned man mouthing at his neck and grabbing his ass.   
Certo sat on the couch, trying to read their book despite the loud, terrible makeout session happening on their kitchen counter - wait, were they _really_ on the counter? Okay, no.   
Certo cleared their throat uncomfortably. There was no response. They coughed. Nothing.   
"Caleb."  
"Huh?" Caleb turned his head, looking back at them.   
"Please do this in your room, if you must."   
Caleb rolled his eyes and led the tall blue man down the hall, tugging his shirt off as they went.   
Certo stared after them for a moment, tempted to go after them, to pull that man off of him and throw him out and wrap Caleb in a blanket and give him tea and ask him _What's wrong? Why have you been acting out so much? How can I help? I just want to help._   
They thought back to the parenting book.  
 _It's important to give your child space._  
Still - the hungry look in the man's eyes, the smirk he'd had - it made Certo sick. 

The next morning, Certo walked in to find Blue Dude standing in their kitchen, drinking their coffee out of their mug.   
"How old are you?" Certo asked flatly.   
"41." he responded, sipping from the cup.   
Certo ground their teeth, hands tightening into fists.   
_No one over 40._  
"You like to fuck kids?" they asked lowly, leaning in. "You like getting young, vulnerable kids drunk, and fucking them?"  
"Hey, man," he said, eyebrows raised, "he came on to me. Plus, he's 15, right? That's legal."   
" _Legal_ doesn't mean shit, you fucking scumbag." Certo snarled. "On some planets, killing people is fucking legal, does that make it right?"  
The man was silent for a moment.   
"Yeah. That's what I thought. Now get off my ship." 

Caleb keeps spiraling. It's an endless cycle of joints, lines, finding empty pill bottles and little plastic bags shoved under his bed, hearing from his friend Atlas that he saw Caleb getting fucked behind a bar last week, watching Caleb lock himself in the bathroom and come out an hour later with red-rimmed eyes and fresh gauze wrapped around a leg or an arm. Caleb starts getting careless on missions, throws himself in the line of fire and _it's almost like he's trying to die._   
Certo doesn't know how to fix it.

And then, a couple weeks before his 16th birthday, he comes into Certo's room, lays next to them, and curls up into their side with a hand fisted in their shirt.   
_Never reject your child's affection. It may cause them to feel unwanted or unloved._  
"I'm sorry." he says quietly, just barely trembling.   
"It's been a long year." Certo muses, dropping a hand into his hair and scratching lightly.   
"I just felt - I felt so much, all the time." Caleb whispered fiercely. "And so much of it was bad."  
Certo hummed, nodding.  
"And I felt so guilty for being so shitty to you," he mumbled, "but it was like, I felt like a bad person. And I didn't know how to stop feeling that way. So that was how I was."  
"It's okay." Certo said softly. "A lot has - has happened. We all deal with things differently."   
It was silent. They both laid there, thinking, hearts heavy and lukewarm.   
"Let's make 16 a better year, huh?" Certo murmured.   
"Yeah." Caleb replied, voice raspy and low. "Let's."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fucking revenge, bitch.

Caleb knew it would happen. He’d felt it since the day Latharos shoved him into the arms of those dealers; condemned him to countless weeks of rape and torture and the dark, cold room in the hull of the ship, the long nights and the dirty sheets and big hands covering his mouth. He knew it would happen - _One day,_ he told himself, _the universe will give me back what it took. It’ll open its mouth and spit my enemies back out at my feet._  
On some nights, that hope kept him alive through the constant, feverish, drug-induced haze. He’d stare into the darkness, the metal cuff cold and burning around his ankle, and if he tried hard enough he could almost feel his teeth sinking into Latharos’s neck, could almost feel bone breaking and skin splitting under his teeth, his fists, the steel toes of the boots he used to wear. This keeps him vaguely sane.  
When Certo rescues him, it’s a low, constant simmer beneath his skin; the need to _kill kill kill_ bubbling up and scorching him from the inside out.  
When he is 14, he is saved and Certo teaches him how to live.  
When he is 15, he starts looking. 

He goes out for hours on end, prowling through seedy bars and underground clubs, fucks his way through half of the party cities on their side of the galaxy, asks anyone and everyone if they’ve ever met a tall, dark-haired thief named Latharos, and if they know where he is.  
“We’re old friends,” he’d say, grinning easily. “I’d just like to catch up with him.”  
But there’s no trace of him anywhere. No one knows who he is, where he is, what he might be doing, if he’s dead or alive. 

Caleb found himself getting angrier and angrier, going out less to search and more to get high or drunk or fucked - anything to forget about the fire coursing through him, the endless rage and the little voice that whispered _hurt kill revenge kill kiLL KILL -_ in the back of his mind. He slept with men who looked and talked and acted like Latharos, men who wanted to abuse him in the same way and who always wanted him tied to the headboard, helpless and spread out beneath them. He let them do it. He must be a really shitty fucking person, he thinks, if this is who he attracts. Maybe someone out there thinks he deserves it. Maybe he does.  
He knew that Certo had noticed him coming home more and more often with black eyes and bruised wrists, noticed how skinny he was and even probably had found some of the contraband he kept under his bed; stolen prescription pills, little bags of white powder that he sucked dick to get, empty razor blade packages…

_Someone new came down after he’d been chained to the bed for about a week and a half - a tall, commanding man with a self-satisfied grin. He looked Caleb over hungrily, eyes pausing on his upper arms and thighs - and then he grinned even wider. Caleb felt the blood drain from his pale blue face._  
_“Aw,” the man crooned, “someone doesn’t like himself very much, huh?”_  
_Caleb flushed, horrified, and drew his knees up to his chest, curling in on himself. His lower lip trembled violently. Don’t show weakness, don’t show weakness, he chanted over and over in his head - but the man just kept going, and going, and going._  
_“I was hoping we’d get another little painslut,” he said, sitting down in the metal chair in front of the bed, “though, I usually prefer to have a...clean canvas.”_  
_He leaned forward, head cocked to the side._  
_“Your little scars are cute. But I think we can do better, don’t you?”_  
_Caleb stared at him, unmoving._  
_The man pulled a switchblade out of his pocket and threw it on the bed, the small knife landing at Caleb’s feet. Caleb picked it up with a trembling hand, staring at it. This guy couldn’t be fucking serious. He’d rather be raped a hundred more times, would rather be beaten bloody. This was - this was sick._  
_“Well? Don’t just stare at it. Make some pretty colors for me, sweetheart.”_  
_When he still didn’t move, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter and a small metal rod and set them at the foot of the bed. The message was clear. This, or that. Caleb recalled how it felt to be burned - the awful heat that stayed trapped beneath your skin for days, the horrible dark marks it left, how it seared off the skin and left it soft and peeling._  
_He flicked open the knife._

...bottles of bootleg alcohol. He knew Certo had noticed. 

The I-Don’t-Fucking-Care facade starts cracking a little, when he brings home a tall, blue-skinned man with the same nose as Latharos, and gets fucked with Certo’s disapointed voice echoing in his head.  
_Please do this in your room, if you must._  
He woke up the next morning to low voices in the kitchen, and snuck down the hallway with his back pressed to the wall.  
“-getting young, vulnerable kids drunk, and fucking them?” Certo asked, voice hard.  
“Hey, man,” he heard the blue guy say (what was his name, even?), “he came on to me. Plus, he’s 15, right? That’s legal.”  
“ _Legal_ doesn’t mean shit, you fucking scumbag. On some planets, killing people is fucking legal, does that make it right?”  
There was a silence.  
“Yeah. That’s what I thought. Now get off my ship.”  
Caleb’s heart ached in his chest and he swallowed hard, turning to walk back to his room.  
_Certo cares. They care, they care, they care._ his brain insisted quietly, soft and hopeful. _Someone cares._

A couple weeks before his 16th birthday, he decides can’t do it anymore, and he steps into Certo’s bedroom feeling cold and lost.  
“Let’s make 16 a better year, huh?” Certo murmurs above him, hand scratching behind his ear.  
“Yeah.” Caleb whispered. “Let’s.” 

And then - 4 months later - it happens. The universe plops Latharos down on a barstool 3 down from Certo and Caleb late one night, after a long job, and the universe makes him get up from the stool and saunter on over to hit on Caleb.  
“Lemme buy you a drink, goth Peter Pan.”  
He can hardly believe his fucking ears. He’d know that slimy voice _anywhere_ \- it taunted him constantly, buzzed between his ears and make his head spin. He turned slowly, grinning as Latharos’s eyes widened in recognition - but it was too late for him. Caleb had already stuck the taser in his neck.  
“Dude, what the fuck!” Certo whisper-shouted, grabbing his arm.  
“It’s him.” Caleb hissed. “Come on, that’ll only keep him knocked out for 15 minutes tops. We gotta get him on the ship.”  
No one paid them any mind as they hauled Latharos out of the bar. Places like this didn’t care what you did, as long as you didn’t stain the floor and you paid for your drinks.  
They dragged him onto the ship and tied him tightly to a chair, the knots expert and inescapable.  
“Okay,” Certo said, turning to Caleb, “I know you said ‘it’s him’ earlier, but I still don’t know who he is or what he did or why we have him tied up, so can I get an explanation before you do presumably horrible things to him? Is this a sex thing? Because if it is, I’d really rather you not do it in the kitchen, on a communal chair -”  
“It’s not a sex thing.” Caleb cut them off. “This is the guy who traded me to the dealers.”  
Certo fell silent immediately, turning to look at the tied-up man. They contemplated him for a moment, a million thoughts running through their brain.  
_Do you know what you did? How could you do that to a child? Do you fucking know what they did to him, you sick motherfucker, do you even know?_  
“You should be the one to kill him,” Certo finally said, “but I want a turn before you do.”  
Caleb’s eyes widened momentarily. He didn’t know Certo would want to...participate.  
Latharos groaned and raised his head slowly, confused at the ropes - and then the panic set in. He tugged at his bonds furiously, panting, head whipping around, eyes pausing on Certo and Caleb, dark and looming in the kitchen doorway (well, Certo loomed. Caleb did his best.)  
“Caleb, honey,” he tried, voice cracking, “I’m so glad you’re okay, baby, I was so worried about you.”  
Caleb stared at him blankly.  
“You were worried?” he asked, eerily calm.  
“Of course I was worried, sweetheart, precious boy, my good boy, I never wanted you to get hurt, I searched for you for months, I tried to track them down and get you back but -”  
Caleb pulled his gun out in a smooth, quick movement and fired a shot into his kneecap. Latharos screamed loudly, his breaths coming out in quick, forced little huffs.  
“I have waited for so fucking long,” Caleb said quietly, “to hear that sound.”  
Certo watched them silently from the doorway, hand on their gun in case something got out of hand.  
“Caleb, baby,” Latharos pleaded, “untie me, please? Let’s talk about this like adults, you’re so grown up now, so handsome, my big, strong boy…you have to understand the position I was in, the choice I had to make…”  
“Shut the fuck up before I cut your tongue out and eat it in front of you.” Caleb snarled, pulling a knife from his boot.  
_Well, okay, if he tries to do that I’ll step in._ Certo thought, mildly disgusted.  
“You think flattery will get you out of this?” Caleb asked, staring straight into Latharos’s eyes.  
Latharos stared back, shivering.  
“The universe offered me back what it stole.” he snarled. “And I’m going to take, and take, and take.”  
Latharos’s feigned warm, pleading aura dissipated, his eyes growing cold and hard.  
“I picked you up off the street.” he hissed. “No one fucking _wanted_ you, and I took you in, you little whore. I helped your little tranny ass and kept you fed and clothed, and this is how you repay me?”  
“You let me be _raped_. You whored me out, you let your friends fuck me, you got me addicted to drugs, you -”  
“Oh, _please_.” Latharos threw his head back, laughing. “You _begged_ for it.”  
He leaned his head to the side, glancing back at Certo.  
“He begged me for it!” he called to them. “He’d get on his back for me and let me spread him out, begged me to go harder and faster and fucking _whined_ for daddy like a little _bitch_.”  
Caleb stepped forward and kicked his shin, hard, the bone splintering beneath his boot.  
“They tortured me for weeks!” Caleb roared. “After you left me on that ship, they chained me to a bed in the bottom of the ship and let anyone do anything to me, let people beat me and rape me and whatever other sick shit they wanted to - wanted to do!”  
“And I bet you fucking loved it, slut.” Latharos hissed vindictively, eyes gleaming.  
Caleb whipped his knife back out and slashed it wildly across Latharos’s face, leaving a deep, jagged gash thorough his cheeks and nose.  
He stepped back, breathing hard, and turned to look at Certo.  
“Do what you want to him. I can’t fucking wait to put a bullet through his head.”  
Certo nodded, walking into the kitchen to stand in front of Latharos.  
“Who’s this? Your fuckbuddy? Pimp?” Latharos taunted, voice thick with pain. Caleb didn’t respond.  
Certo stared at him through their helmet.  
“Y’know,” Certo started, “I killed everyone on that ship. All of them.”  
They turned to Caleb.  
“Caleb, what’s the most painful thing they did to you?”  
He was silent for a moment, considering. And then -  
“This one guy - he pulled out half my teeth because I bit him.”  
They’d grown back, of course. Being half-alien gave him some level of regenerative ability. He still wasn’t really sure what species he was, but he’d never been more fucking grateful to have alien genes than he had been when his teeth grew back after a few days.  
“Hmm.” Certo said, mock-thoughtfully. “Pulled out half his teeth.”  
Latharos paled. It was obvious where this was going.  
They fished around in their pocket for a moment before pulling out a pair of pliers, clicking them contemplatively. They knelt down in front of him, head cocked.  
“Well, I think it’s only fair, don’t you?” 

45 minutes later Latharos’s shirt was drenched in blood, his head dropping immediately if Certo didn’t hold it up. His mouth drooled blood and he was sobbing, pleading for them to just kill him.  
“I’m done.” Certo said, wiping their hands on their jacket. “Yeesh. It stopped being fun, they really just started popping out towards the end.”  
Caleb nodded silently and hopped off the countertop, pulling out his gun and pressing it to Latharos’s head.  
“Beg me for mercy. Maybe if you do a good enough job, I’ll let you live.”  
“Please don’t kill me,” Latharos sobbed, “please, please, I don’t want to die, I’m going to rot in hell, please -”  
“Then rot.”  
He pulled the trigger.

Caleb stood in the shower afterwards, watching blood swirl down the drain and shivering violently.  
_He begged me for it._  
_...whined for daddy like a little bitch._  
_I bet you loved it, slut._  
And then, suddenly, he was crying, scratching at his shoulders and dry-heaving, his breaths short and panicked.  
_I bet you loved it, slut._  
He sunk to the floor, hands fisted in his hair.  
_He begged me for it._  
The shower curtain was yanked open suddenly, Certo’s tall form standing over him.  
“Caleb? You screamed, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did you -”  
Certo cut themself off, taking in his shaking and shivering form, the red nail marks on his shoulders along with the old scars...fuck.  
“Fuck.” they said. “Okay, come on buddy, let’s get up and get out, okay? Can I -” they swallowed hard, trying to push past the dull knot of fear that suddenly curled up in their stomach “- touch you?”  
“Y-y-yes.” Caleb wheezed. Certo nodded and turned the water off before sliding their hands under his armpits and hoisting him up, helping him step out of the tub and onto the mat.  
They quickly wrapped a towel around him.  
“Hey, stay here, okay? I’ll go get you some clothes.”  
Caleb stared off into space and Certo left, returning a moment later with a pair of soft pants and a big sweatshirt.  
“Here. Get dressed and I’ll make us some food.” 

Caleb wandered into the kitchen a couple minutes later, still looking completely lost, but at least now he was dry and wearing clothes. They ate together silently for a little bit, and then Caleb said, “I’m glad that fucker is dead.”  
Certo looked up, surprised, before saying, “Me too.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter about height. I am insecure.

Caleb wasn’t insecure about his height. Sure, he was 5’6 or something, but who even kept track of that, anyways? He was _fine_ with his height, he didn’t _care_ about his height - not even when 5’11 Certo (“It’s actually 6’0 even,” they’d told him once, smugly.) loomed over him, smirking, or when they used his head as an armrest, or when they asked if he’d “missed the memo about the whole growing thing”, or when some dudes they were fighting called him “the little one” (“You take the little one!” he shouted over his shoulder, swinging a knife at Certo. “I’ll show you _little_ , fuckhead.” Caleb snarled. That guy’s night didn’t end very well.), or when some douchebag asked if he was Certo’s son, or - look, he wasn’t _fucking_ insecure about his height. He didn’t care that he was 5’5 and ¾ of an inch, he didn’t care that Certo’s sword was practically as big as him, he didn’t give a _shit_ about any of it. And that was that.

The peanut butter was on the top shelf again. This was bullshit.  
“Need some help, shortstack?” Certo asked from behind him.  
“I can get it myself.” he snarled. And then, when his fingertips just barely brushed it and he pushed it back even further - “Can you stop fucking putting shit up here?”  
“The world isn’t built for the vertically challenged.” they replied, opening the fridge and pulling out the florbfruit juice.  
Somewhere in Caleb’s brain, a small lightbulb flickered on. 

The next time Certo went back into the kitchen, all of the top shelves had been removed. 

The next time, they walked in on him trying to fix the inter-galactic cable wire, standing on a chair with 2 thick books stacked on top of it.  
“I could’ve done that, y’know.” they said, amused.  
“Yeah, well, I’m managing fine on my own.” Caleb said, trying to keep his voice level.  
“Uh huh. Get down before you fall and break your neck.”  
“No.”  
“Caleb, really, this is -”  
“Sorry, I don’t speak pussy.”  
Certo sighed, rolled their eyes, wrapped their hands around his waist, lifted him up, and set him on his feet gently. Caleb called them a handsy creep and a stupid tall looming idiot person and stomped off to his room, slamming the door.  
“Yeesh,” Certo mumbled, reaching up on their tip-toes to look at the wire, “someone’s touchy.”

The next time they went into the living room, the wire had been re-run along the wall, about 7 inches lower. 

Certo finally decided to say something when they decided to go out clubbing together, and Caleb walked out of his room in a black fishnet shirt, some (god, inappropriate) shorts, and a pair of truly fucking ridiculous platform boots.  
They were nearly eye-level. This had to stop.  
“Uhh, Caleb?”  
“What.” he snapped, immediately defensive.  
“Whatcha wearing?”  
“Clothes.”  
“Riiiight...I meant on your feet?”  
“Shoes.”  
“Uh huh, and why did you feel the need to put...those...on?”  
It was a valid question. They were fucking ridiculous - 6-inch platforms, all black leather and spikes and thick straps, with a few little metal hearts dotted here and there. They put him almost at Certo’s height, but it was kind of hilarious to look at.  
“They’re cool, I’ve had them for like, forever, but I hadn’t had a reason to wear them?” he said, feigning casual-ness, leaning against the doorframe cooly.  
“Is that a tag?” Certo asked, squinting.  
“No.”  
“Caleb, plenty of men are short.”  
“That’s nice for them!” he snapped, crossing his arms.  
“Don’t the guys you fuck _enjoy_ the fact that you radiate bottom?” they asked. “The shortness just adds to it. You look like a bottom with internalized homophobia who’s desperately trying to pass himself off as a top because if you’re the one doing the fucking, it’s ‘less gay’.”  
Caleb gaped at them.  
“God, go take those off. It’s depressing me. You look like you’re wearing stilts. You look like that video I saw of the girl taping buckets to her feet so she can dust the ceiling. You look like a 9-year-old hooker. You look like a really, really depressed stripper. You look like -”  
“Fuck, okay, god, I’ll take them off!” Caleb cut them off, turning and walking back to his room. He re-emerged 7 minutes later, wearing his usual pair of 2-inch black platforms.  
_Thank god._ Certo thought, finally able to look down at him again. _I like short Caleb._  
“Let’s go, I wanna have an angry quickie with someone in the bathroom before I pick someone to _actually_ fuck tonight.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> caleb wants a boyfriend. he (maybe) finds one.

“Hey, would you, uh, maybe wanna see me again?” Caleb asked. Nervousness tinged his voice, making it shakier and more hesitant than usual - he sounded so much younger this way.  
“To fuck? Sure. You were great.” the grey, smoking man (Zamara, he’s pretty sure) next to him said, joint held delicately between two fingers.   
“No, like. Like do you want to go dimension-hopping, or go visit Zelpha-3, or something? I heard it’s, um, really pretty. Lots of. Trees and stuff.”   
He winced, lips wrapped around the tightly-rolled paper.   
“No offense, kid, but I’m not really into you like that.”  
Caleb’s throat tightened.  
“Oh.”  
Zamara stood up, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. His shoulders relaxed and he took another hit.  
“Call me if you’re lookin’ for another hookup, though.”  
He pulled on his pants and jacket and left, shutting the door behind him, and Caleb sat statue-still on the bed with a burning throat and a vague feeling of confusion about why the fuck being told _no_ like that hurt so bad.

It keeps happening. Caleb’s not sure why he’s feeling so much more for people than usual lately; why he thinks about sucking off the guy making eyes at him from across the dancefloor and then watching a movie with him afterwards, his arm over his shoulder and his face pressed into his side. He knows he should go home; should just go drink alone in his room and save himself the hurt - but the man grins at him and some small part of him whispers _maybe, maybe, maybe_ , so he saunters over and sits on his lap and presses their mouths together.   
It’s the same thing afterwards.   
“Uh, I kinda thought this was a...one-time...thing.”  
“Yeah. Sorry. It is. I guess I’m higher than I thought.”  
He forces the words out, even manages a laugh, and lets the guy between his legs one more time. When he finally comes with a choked-off moan, it’s fire shooting up his spine and acid dripping back down, corrosive and burning - and when he’s told to “call again if he wants round 3”, he grins and throws the guy a wink.   
Again,  
“Uh, I kinda just got out of a relationship.”  
and again,  
“...Like a date?”  
and again,  
“I didn’t think you were that kind of guy.”  
and again.  
As soon as the door shuts, Caleb hugs his knees to his chest and wonders what makes him so awful.   
His question is answered the next day, albeit unintentionally, by Certo.   
“Hey, sexy.” he drawled, flopping next to them on the couch.  
“Not now, Caleb.” Certo flipped through their tablet, tense and anxious.  
“I was just gonna ask if -”   
“God, I _just_ said not now, you are so _fucking_ annoying sometimes.” they snapped.   
Caleb understood that they weren’t angry with him - they were clearly stressed about something else - but his eyes teared up all the same, and he went back to his room mechanically, steps slow and measured. He was annoying, wasn’t he? Who even liked him, besides Certo? Atlas? No, he was Certo’s friend, not his, and he’d stopped coming over ever since they’d fucked. God, did - did Certo even like him? Or was he just kept around because of some strange sense of obligation, some nagging voice in the back of Certo’s mind that whispered _you can’t pick up a stray dog and then abandon it. God, that’s just cruel._   
Caleb climbed back into bed, rolling over to face the wall and pulling the covers up over his mouth. He was horrible. Of course no one wanted him for anything more than sex, what else was there to like? His loud, crass personality that Certo had criticized so many times? His vague intelligence? His shitty sense of humor? His quick temper? His on-off drug addiction, his breakdowns, his nightmares, his - fuck. Fuck.   
He rolled back over and fumbled for the handle on his bedside table, pulling it and running his fingers over the bottom of the drawer until his fingers bumped cool, smooth metal.   
He held up the razor, staring at it for a moment.  
_Come on,_ his brain encouraged, voice sick and low, _you know what to do._  
He pressed it into his upper forearm, pausing for a moment - did he really want to cut somewhere so visible? He usually tried to confine his embarrassing, 15-year-old-girl-esque habit to places he could cover up; his thighs and the insides of his calves and his ribs, his chest, the undersides of his upper arms…  
_Fuck it._ he thought, arm jerking quickly, decisively. Blood bloomed up from the cut, long and gaping diagonally up his forearm, stark against his pale blue skin. He threw the razor angrily back into the drawer, slamming it shut and pressing a hand to his face.   
_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This is fucking obvious, it’s so obvious, you already fucking scream emotionally unstable and all this will do is make it worse, make Certo think you’re even more irresponsible and make people think you’re a walking red flag and, and, and no one is ever going to love yo-_ he was breathing heavily now, holding his injured arm tightly with lemon-sour squeezed-shut eyes and tense shoulders, heaving, fighting to slow the continual huffs of air that were forcing themselves up and out of him. He’s fine. He’s good. He can do this. He should bandage his arm. He’s fine.   
Caleb stood up and walked to the door numbly, hand pausing momentarily on the handle before clenching tight around it and yanking, stepping out into the hallway - and Certo was right there, stride determined and boots clunking heavily on the floor.  
“Hey, what -” they started as Caleb rushed past them, darting into the bathroom and locking the door hurriedly.   
Caleb breathed a sigh of relief, sagging heavily over the sink and watching blood slowly trickle down his arm and leave red streaks in the sink.   
When he left the bathroom 10 minutes later, arm freshly bandaged, Certo had disappeared into their room and the ship was quiet, lonely - just like the universe, the vast nothing that surrounded them (that surrounded him) - and he wandered back to his own room. 

A year later, Caleb was on another bender - strung out on some new drug, shorts exposing long pale legs and black jacket thrown over torn t-shirt, neon lights dancing across his face as he tossed back another shot and shook his dark hair out of his face. His hand settled on his other, less alcoholic drink; the fruity green one that was meant for slow sips and making eyes over the rim of the glass.  
“Hey.”   
Caleb turned, glazed eyes wide. The guy next to him was staring at him (tall, built, jacket hugging his shoulders tightly) with a pinched expression; uncomfortable.   
“I saw someone pour something in there a few minutes ago,” he continued, eyeing Caleb with a mix of wariness and concern, the same way you look at a stray dog - you want to help it, but you sure as fuck don’t want to get bit; who knows what kind of diseases the mangy thing has?  
“Ooo, I bet it was somethin yummy.” Caleb said gleefully, lifting the glass halfway to his lips before the man swiped it from his hand, setting it out of reach with an appalled expression.   
“Yeah, uh, if you think date rape is yummy.” he said, eyebrows drawn together. Caleb swayed in his chair, giggling a little when he almost toppled onto the ground.   
“Whoops.” he slurred, hand gripping the bar for support.   
“Are you here alone?”  
“Mmh, you bet I am, daddy.” he drawled, trying at seductive and mostly coming across as drunk. “Why? You wanna get outta here?”  
“Hmm...daddy...I like that.” the man mused, eyes raking up his pale blue legs. Caleb leaned forward, lower lip caught between his teeth and eyes wide.  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah. But not when you’re like this. How about I get you home? You look like you’ve been partying for…” he leaned in and sniffed Caleb’s hair lightly, wincing, “...at least a week. Jesus. Is there someone I can call for you, or…”  
And, ironically, at that very moment Caleb’s wristband began buzzing insistently, accompanied by _Helmet Head_ in slim white lettering. He glanced at it with a groan, thrusting it at the man who’s name he still didn’t really know.  
“Here, don’ wanna deal with that. Ugh.”   
The man slid it off his wrist and tapped twice to answer, holding it near his mouth.  
“Where the hell are you? You said you’d be gone a couple days _at most_ and it’s been, like, five. What fucking gives?” Certo’s stressed, irritated voice rang out.   
“Hey, I’ve got him here. We’re at The Misfit on Yvlack-86. He’s pretty drunk, probably high too, I can -”  
“Uh, no offense, but who the fuck are you?”   
“My name’s Abel. Uh, you should come get your friend before he gets raped.”  
“What the - is that a _threat_?” Certo snarled lowly.  
“Oh god, no, not how I meant it, god, I just - I saw someone trying to drug his drink and I took it from him before he could drink it.”   
“Oh. Sorry, I’m just...worried. He goes off the rails like this sometimes, and I feel like he just attracts creeps, and I can’t always be there to fend them off, y’know?”   
“Yeah, I - I don’t know why, but I just felt...he looked so...I dunno.”  
There was an awkward silence. Abel winced.   
“Right...well, I’m on my way, could you take him outside?”  
“Sure. No problem.”  
Abel slid the band back onto Caleb’s wrist before sliding an arm around him, hoisting him up out of his chair.   
“Oookay, let’s get you outside for Helmet Dude to pick you up.” he muttered, more to himself than to Caleb - which, also, _cute name_. Abel side-eyed him, face feeling a little hot. 

Certo strode up to them 15 minutes later, hand on their gun and lights flashing across their visor.   
“Certoooooo!” Caleb cried, falling into their arms. “Missed youuuuu.”  
“Thanks for taking care of him.” Certo said, looking at Abel through their helmet.  
“Yeah, uh, no problem. He’s...he’s sweet, really.”  
“Oh, if you stuck around until tomorrow when he’s hungover and coming down from the high you would nooooot feel that way, I can promise you that.” Certo said, snorting. “He’s an absolute little fucking demon.”  
Abel laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.   
“I bet. I told him I saw someone put something in his drink and he said, ‘Ooo, yummy’.”  
“Jeeesus. He’s usually a little more vigilant than _that_.”  
“Yeah…”  
Abel eyed Caleb longingly, hoping it looked more subtle than it felt. He couldn’t explain it - the strange, undeniable connection he felt to him. Maybe it’d been longer than he thought since he last got laid.   
“Well, we’re gonna...go…” Certo said awkwardly, inching backwards, arm around Caleb.  
“Wait!” Abel exclaimed suddenly, fumbling with his wristband. “Uh, will you give him my code?”  
Certo smirked behind their helmet, snorting softly. God, as much as they weren’t into Caleb, they understood why people were - the short shorts, the messy hair, the pale blue skin...he had dudes like this wrapped around his fucking finger, black nails and all. And it was kinda funny, honestly, so - “Sure, I’ll give it to him.” Certo assured him, entering Abel’s code into their own wristband. Abel grinned. He was just a little taller than them, Certo noted with amusement. Caleb would look like a real fuckin’ shortie with this dude. 

“Some guy wanted me to give you his code.” Certo informed him when he dragged himself into the kitchen the next morning, his eyes dark and mouth set in a hard line. _God, he was fucking hungover._  
Caleb stared into the fridge, unresponsive, trying to recall who it might’ve been - and then, his brain swirled and a blurry face flashed through his mind, a faint _My name’s Abel_.   
“Abel?” he asked, closing the fridge and turning to face Certo.   
“Heyyy, look who didn’t completely black out last night! Proud of you, kid.” they said flatly, arms crossed. “Do you want it? I actually think I _might_ approve. He seemed...decent.”  
“Sure.” Caleb said, holding his arm out.   
_Hmm...daddy...I like that._ his brain supplied suddenly, and _oh_.

A low, deep, “Hello?” came from Caleb’s wristband a few days later.  
“Hey, uh, Abel, right?”   
There was a loud crash and a muttered curse on Abel’s side, followed by nervous laughter.  
“Yeah, yep, that’s me. Caleb?”  
“Wanna come over?” Caleb offered.   
“Wh - yes.”  
“Cool. I’ll send you the coords. See you.”

Abel parked his ship in the small dock, glancing at the small side mirror to check his hair. Okay, yep, great, he looked - he looked fine. This was going to be fine. He wasn’t nervous because he didn’t get _nervous_ with guys anymore, he was well past those years, and his entire body wasn’t thrumming with anticipation because _holy fuck_ had Caleb been cute, and he wasn’t - yeah, see? He’s fine.   
He knocked on the door hesitantly and it slid open immediately, leaving him to step into a small, dark hallway. A red light scanned him and a gender-neutral voice echoed above him - “Threat Level: 5. Access Granted.” - before the dark panel in front of him popped open with a hiss. He pushed the door open and stepped into the ship’s living room, making eye contact with Certo through their helmet from where they sat on the couch.  
“Oh. He’s in his room.” Certo said dismissively, looking back down at their book.   
“Uh. Thanks.” Abel walked through the living room and past the kitchen and down the hallway until he came to a solid, black door across from a less moody green one. He swiveled to look at them both, trying to decide, before settling on the black one and knocking softly. 

Caleb grinned at the soft, almost shy knock that echoed into his room. He checked himself in the mirror one more time - shirtless, little black short-shorts sitting high on his hips, ankle socks…  
He pulled the door open and was face-to-face with a 6’0 tall nervous-looking guy in a leather jacket, his skin almost a human shade - but just slightly too grey for that.   
“Hey.” Caleb drawled, leaning against the doorframe with loosely-crossed arms.

The door swung open and - and was he _shirtless_? Abel’s eyes raked over Caleb’s exposed form, eyes lingering on the hem of his shorts and the sharp jut of his hipbones, the soft, touchable pale blue skin that seemed never-ending. He was suddenly reminded of the hard taffies he used to eat when he was younger; what were the pastel blue ones?   
_Blue raspberry._ his brain supplied helpfully, gleefully.   
_I bet he’s just as sweet._ the nastier side of him whispered, licking its lips. _Have a taste. Go on. Just lean in and -_  
“Hey.” Abel said, running a hand through his hair. “Nice ship.”  
“It’s Certo’s.” Caleb said with a shrug. “I’m basically a stray dog they picked up.”  
Abel got a little red at that, the image of Caleb in a leash and collar on his knees suddenly pushed to the forefront of his mind.   
“This is my room.”  
“It’s cu - uh, nice.”   
“Thanks.”  
“Yep.”  
“So…” Caleb trailed off, staring Abel down.   
“So…” Abel echoed back.

“Oh, _fuuuck_.” Caleb moaned, arching up into Abel’s hand with a choked-off gasp.   
“Yeah? You like that, honey?” Abel grinned into his neck, crooking his fingers again and pressing in firmly.   
“Yes, oh god, yes.” he whined, eyes squeezed shut and face flushed.   
“You wanna come?” Abel asked, teeth gently digging into his throat.  
“Yes, yes, yes.” Caleb forced it out desperately, hips squirming in Abel’s firm hold and chest heaving.  
“What do good boys say, Caleb?”   
“Please, daddy!” he cried, and Abel rewarded him with a low hum of affirmation and a sharp thrust of his fingers.

Certo wrinkled their nose at the loud, obvious sex noises coming from Caleb’s room. They sighed and walked down the hall, tapping lightly beside Caleb’s door - and a small panel slid open, invisible unless you were looking for it. A particularly loud and whiny “Daddy!” echoed down the hall and Certo winced, quickly flipping a switch labelled “GROSS”. The noise stopped immediately. God, the soundproofing had been a great investment. 

Afterwards, Abel pulled Caleb into his chest and sighed contentedly, their legs still tangled in the sheets and both of them loose-limbed and warm. Caleb allowed it for a moment before pushing him away and rolling over to face the wall, curling in on himself.   
“You can go now.” he said dully.  
Abel sat up, staring at the back of his head with a furrowed brow.  
“What?”  
“You got what you came for, you don’t need to _cuddle_ me because you feel bad. You can _go_.”  
“Hey, no, what?” Abel said, placing a firm hand on Caleb’s scarred shoulder. “That’s not - that’s not what this is, to me.”   
Caleb sat up suddenly, pulling a knife from under his pillow and pointing it at Abel, eyes blazing.  
“I bet you think you’re really fucking funny, huh?” he snarled. “Pretending you _like_ me. Fucking hilarious. You motherfucker. Get out, get off of our fucking ship you piece of _shit_.”  
Abel stared at him, frozen, eyes wide.   
“Caleb, that’s not -”  
“I said _get out_!” Caleb yelled, voice trembling slightly now and eyes welling up. “Please, just go, it’s not funny, fuck -” and now tears were spilling down his cheeks and he threw the knife down angrily, scrubbing at his face.  
And Abel, shocked but determined, did not get off of their fucking ship, and he didn’t at all think he was really fucking funny - and he wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but he wrapped a strong arm around Caleb’s shoulders and pulled him into his chest, quietly hoping that this wasn’t going to get him stabbed.   
“I don’t know what other people have said to you in the past,” he started, petting Caleb’s hair, “but I didn’t come over hoping for a one-time thing. I like you. I’m sorry that I didn’t - uh, make that clear.”  
Caleb shook his head into Abel’s chest, still crying.   
“Yes.” Abel said firmly - and then he ducked down and slotted their mouths together neatly, Caleb’s lips salty and cold against his.   
“I like you a lot, okay?” Abel murmured into his mouth, hand sliding down to rest on his hip.   
And Caleb, shell-shocked, tried desperately to relax into it even though every bone in his body was screaming _liar liar liar_. This - maybe this was real. And he could work with maybe.

Abel keeps coming around. Neither of them are bold enough to put any sort of label on it or even talk about it, until - “Caleb, your boyfriend’s here.” Certo called down the hallway, pausing in their apple-slicing momentarily when they caught sight of Abel’s wide-eyed expression.  
“What?” Certo asked, looking up through their visor just as Caleb walked into the living room, his face equally shocked.   
“I - we’re not - we’re -” Caleb stammered, face incredibly red.   
“You’re not what? Dating? So you’ve been sleeping with one, singular guy for 3 months and you’re going to try to tell me that you’re _not dating_.”  
“But it’s just - there’s - we -”  
“Oh my god.” Certo turned to Abel, brandishing their knife threateningly. “ _Tell him_ you guys are clearly dating.”  
“I wouldn’t, um, I wouldn’t want to, y’know, uh, incorrectly label. It.”  
“You guys went to Zelpha-32 together! For a week! You guys go out to dinner! You hang out and watch TV together! Oh my god! Go talk about this! Go! To your room, both of you! Talk!” Certo exclaimed, corralling them down the hallway.

Caleb’s door clicked shut ominously, the room tense and silent.   
“What the -”  
“Are we -”  
They both stopped, staring at each other.  
“I want to be your boyfriend!” Abel burst out suddenly. “I’ve always wanted that, since the first time we fucked!”  
“I -”  
“I’m sorry if that’s not what you want I just think you’re so great and I don’t want anyone else to have any part of you and -”  
“I want that too!” Caleb cut him off, face burning. “I...I want to be your. Your boyfriend.”  
And Abel surged forward, pulling him into a desperate kiss, groaning into his mouth when Caleb bit his lower lip.   
“Fuck,” he said said lowly, “I’m gonna absolutely wreck you.”  
“We should probably eat the dinner that Certo is making first.” Caleb whispered, snickering. 

“We’re dating.” Abel announced happily, grinning at Certo.   
They snorted, passing him the salad bowl.

Abel stood over the sink later that night, sipping his water slowly, not noticing Certo creeping up behind him.  
“Hey.”   
Abel jolted and spun around, just barely managing to not drop his glass.  
“God, you scared me.”   
“Sorry. Look, I need to talk to you about Caleb.” Certo’s voice was low, wary.  
“Uh, okay.”   
“He’s just - he’s had a pretty hard time, okay? A lot of people have treated him really poorly, myself included at times, and I just - I want you to be _serious_ about him, if you’re going to do this. He’s never dated anyone before. Never. He’s strictly one-night-stands, so if he says he likes you, that really, really means something.”  
“I am serious.” Abel said firmly. “I think he’s incredible. A little crazy, but incredible. What, uh, what else has happened to him?”  
Certo shook their head.   
“If you hear about it, it should be from him.”

“Hey.” Abel whispered, sliding back into bed next to Caleb.  
“How was your water?” he teased.  
“Enlightening.”  
“Oo la la. Do tell.” Caleb said dryly.  
“Nope, sorry, find your own enlightenment.”  
“Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll abandon you in the night and sneak off to go search for meaning all by myself.”  
“Aw, babe, you’re searching for meaning in an endless and vast universe without me?”   
Caleb snorted, burying his face in his pillow, and Abel rolled over on top of him, limbs splayed out.  
“Ugh, get off, you brute!”  
“Make me.”  
Caleb bit his arm and Abel yelped, but didn’t move.  
“God, it’s like dating a feral dog!” he exclaimed, examining the teeth marks.  
“Hey, wanna see what Certo made me wear once?” Caleb asked grinning.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sex traffickers, but make them...stupid. caleb utilizes the power of seduction and certo overestimates the enemy.

Caleb had never regretted not listening to Certo as much as he did right now.   
( _Stay close, okay? You don’t wanna get lost here. I debated even bringing you, because this place is fucked, and it’s not safe for people like - look, it’s just not safe. Don’t wander._ )  
The cuffs bit into his wrists, holding them tightly behind his back, and the wad of fabric stuffed into his mouth kept him from screaming. They’d disarmed him and taken his wristband; these guys weren’t just looking to make a quick buck - they were _professionals_.   
The floor of the warehouse was cold and hard, making his skin feel clammy and his teeth chatter as he curled into himself, trying to conserve the little energy he had. It wasn’t worth struggling right now; there was no way he was getting out of these cuffs. The best thing to do was map out his surrounds and be patient.   
_I can wait,_ he thought, mouth set in a grim line, _I can wait all fucking day._

He only had to wait for about an hour until they guys who’d grabbed him earlier were slamming the warehouse door open, dim purple-tinged light from outside pouring in through the wide entrance and their tall figures casting long, dark shadows that moved menacingly and with the intent to hurt. He flinched backwards, trying to keep his breathing steady and calm, fists clenching in their bonds.   
“Ohhhhh, we’ll make some real money off of _this_ one.” a looming man who Caleb immediately internally nicknamed Mohawk leered. “Fuckin’ tiny and looks like he could be a damn virgin.”   
_Oh, they have no idea._  
“Right? I saw him wandering around _alone_ , the stupid cunt. He put up a decent fight, if you can believe it.”  
The others snickered quietly and Caleb glared at him, rolling his eyes at the guy’s stupid fucking fingerless gloves. What a tool.   
“Alright,” Gloves said, clapping his hands together loudly, “let’s get him stripped down and cleaned up, make it quick, we’ve got places to be and people to...sell. That didn’t rhyme. Whatever. Just. Clean him up. Hop to it.”  
Caleb tried to count the hands on him, to see how big the group was, but his head spun dangerously as he was yanked to his feet and he couldn’t seem to focus clearly on any one person or face, couldn’t tell who was who and what was what.   
They dragged him to the back of the warehouse into a bizarre tiled corner, unhooking the cuffs from each other and reattaching them to little o-rings embedded in the smooth walls, keeping his arms stretched out and apart.   
A different guy (Face tattoo? Really? These guys make nicknames too easy.) flicked open his switchblade and held the collar of Caleb’s t-shirt taut, slicing cleanly down the center and then through the sleeves, the fabric falling away in pieces. Caleb winced uncomfortably as the man’s eyes raked over his chest, pausing on his scarred shoulders and the deep blue line that went straight across his torso, the incision long-healed and faded as much as he could hope for - he’d always been one to scar easily.   
“What’s this?” he muttered, brow furrowed, hand coming up to run a finger across it. And then - “Azeryle, take his gag out, would you?”   
A shorter man with a deep, purple scar running across the bridge of his nose reached out and yanked the wad of fabric out of Caleb’s dry mouth, allowing him to stretch his jaw for the first time in 2ish hours.   
“What’s this?” Face Tat demanded, louder this time.   
“What’s it look like?” Caleb snarked. “It’s a scar.”  
“From?”  
“A minor lung surgery.” he said, the lie slipping out easily.   
“And these?” Face Tat gestured to his shoulders, nose wrinkled. It was silent for a moment. Caleb’s throat felt tight, constricted.   
“I did those.”  
“Well, this situation,” he said, waving a disappointed hand at his upper body, “is going to bring our asking price down.”  
Face Tat leaned down and started to slice through his pants - _no no no_ \- dragging the knife smoothly through the tough black material - _oh fuck something please happen fuck_ \- of both legs, pulling the destroyed pants off his body and then bringing the knife to the waistband of his briefs - _NO_ \- slicing through those too, and pulling them off - _I’m fucked._ \- to find something very...unexpected.   
“Oh, shit.” Azeryle breathed, eyes fixated between Caleb’s legs and then sliding back up to his chest, mouth o-shaped and surprised.   
“Now _this_...” Face Tat said slowly, “this will bring that price riiiiiight back up.”   
He flicked his knife shut and instructed Azeryle to clean him off before walking back over to Gloves and Mohawk and a few others Caleb hadn’t had time to think of stupid nicknames for, speaking quietly to them - he caught little snippets here and there, while Azeryle ran his soapy hands all over his body (creepily, slowly, with maybe a little too much enjoyment) - and he stared at the ground dully, willing himself to stay quiet.   
“...used to be a girl…cut her tits off…”  
“...people will pay more for…”  
“...looks like a guy now, though…”  
“...still got...between her - his - its? legs…”  
Azeryle smirked up at him, slick fingers sliding between his legs unexpectedly and making Caleb gasp at the sudden sensation, trying to twist his hips away - _wait._ He could work with this. _He could totally fucking work with this._  
“They let you fuck the merchandise?” Caleb asked, staring up at him with faux-innocent eyes.   
“Nah. I just get to clean it off. Still fun, though.”   
“Not as fun as getting to get your dick wet.” he said, rolling his hips into Azeryle’s hand slowly, tilting his head back and letting out a little whimper. “I’ll let you do _whatever_ you want to me, if you get me out of here. Anything.”  
Azeryle narrowed his eyes, looking back over his shoulder furtively to make sure that the other guys were still talking and then back at Caleb, his gaze hungry. Yeah, this guy hadn’t been laid in wayyy too long.   
“ _Anything?_ ” Azeryle asked, voice low.  
“Anything.” Caleb confirmed, biting his lip.  
Azeryle looked incredibly conflicted for a moment. On one hand, this job made him pretty good money, but on the other...fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.  
“Okay.” he said, spraying Caleb down one last time. “But we’ve gotta be careful. I’ll say I think you’d look good in one of the outfits we have in the back and when I take you to get dressed we’ll just. Y’know. Slip out the back.”  
Caleb stared at him, disbelieving.  
“It can’t be that easy.”  
“No, no, it is, it really is. This is an abandoned warehouse with no perimeter guards. I mean, it’s not secure at all. They rely entirely on you not being able to get out of those cuffs and on you believing that this operation is way more secure than it really is. We only have, like, 6 guys working here.”

 

Certo was staked out behind a crashed ship, watching the warehouse carefully.   
_No guards on the outside...there must be an electromagnetic barrier, or something. Fuck._  
They had to get in there. Caleb could already be dead by now. 

“Hey, I think he’d look good in that little pink set we’ve got in the back!” Azeryle called across the warehouse, unhooking Caleb’s wrists from the o-rings and re-attaching them together.   
“Sure dude, do whatever! Little bitch is gonna make us so much fucking money no matter what you put it in!” Mohawk shouted back, waving his hand dismissively.   
_Wow, he was right, this place is reeeally lax for guys who are kidnapping and selling people._   
“You’re not actually going to make me wear some gross pink outfit, right?” Caleb asked lowly as Azeryle led him down the dark hallway, grimacing.  
“Hmm...you’re right, I think the black might suit you better.” Azeryle mused.  
They turned left and stopped in front of an unmarked red door, the paint chipped and peeling, and - oh, god, there was a whole _room_ of ridiculous costumes, tiny little lace thongs and bras, knee highs and thigh highs and fishnets, outrageous platforms and demure kitten heels, corsets and sundresses, spikes and rhinestones and just _everything_ for every type of person.   
Azeryle shut and locked the door before flicking impatiently through a rack of lingerie, pausing on something black and strappy.   
“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly, “this is good.”  
He tossed it at Caleb dismissively before turning around and hunting for something else in a large box of...Caleb didn’t even _know_ what.   
He sighed and pulled the black panties on, then the garter belt that had come with them, and the thigh-highs - and, okay, fine, he looked kind of cute, but his usual style was cheap goth prostitute, not...vaguely expensive escort, which was what this screamed.   
“Ah ha!” Azeryle exclaimed, pulling a strip of black leather out of the box. “This is gonna look soooo cute on you.”   
_What is with people always wanting to put collars on me?_ Caleb thought, face flushing.   
“Aww, are you blushing? Fuckin’ adorable. Here, c’mere, I’ll put it on for you.” he cooed.  
Caleb went to stand in front of him, cheeks a light shade of purple.   
“Head back.” he instructed, tipping Caleb’s chin up with a firm hand, and then sliding the leather around the back of his neck and buckling it tightly, testing the give with 2 fingers.  
“Perfect! And now these…” he hummed, picking up a - seriously? A headband? With _ears_? - headband from the table and sliding it onto his head, ruffling his hair a little to cover the band.  
“And the final touch!” Azeryle said excitedly, spinning around and pulling out _a fucking tail_. Caleb’s face flushed an even darker purple when Azeryle held it out expectantly, smiling when he took it, and an even _darker_ shade when he handed him a small bottle of lube with a, “You’ll need this.”

 

Certo had scaled a tree that grew somewhat near the building, and was trying to calculate how far the jump would be. Could they make it? No, definitely not alone...but maybe with some rope…

 

Azeryle, true to his word, snuck them out the back easily - they just...walked out. It kind of blew Caleb’s mind how easy it was. They spotted Certo hanging off of a rope that had been looped off of a tree branch to a panel sticking out of the warehouse roof and Caleb almost pissed himself, watching Certo crawl across it.   
Certo’s head whipped around at his laugh, eyes widening behind their visor at the sight of him just...standing there, _definitely_ not in the same clothes he’d been wearing earlier, with an excited-looking dude who was practically vibrating.   
Certo dropped down from the rope quickly, dusting their pants off and coughing, low and awkward.  
“So...you look fine.” they said, eyeing him. “Did you just...walk out the back?”  
“Pretty much.” Caleb deadpanned, arms crossed. “With some help from Virgin McGee over here.”  
“I am not a virgin!” Azeryle protested loudly, head whipping to the side to look at Caleb. “I’ll show you how not-virgin I am! Just wait!”  
“What does he mean by that?” Certo asked, tired.  
“I kinda promised to let him fuck me if he -”  
“No, nooo no no,” Azeryle cut him off, shaking his head, “you promised to let me do _anything_.”  
“- right, I promised to let him do anything. To me.” Caleb corrected.  
“Well...ugh, I guess he’s coming back to the ship then. Let’s go, let’s get off this goddamn planet, I’m sick of it. The plants are so weird. It’s making me uncomfortable.”   
Caleb nodded, walking past them, and Certo’s eyes widened considerably at the sight of his back.  
“Caleb what are you _wearing_ , is that a _tail_ -”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> certo starts acting weird. maybe because...its not.........its not certo.................ooooooo spooky

Certo was being...weird. Very weird. Caleb wasn’t sure what had gotten into them, but whatever it was, it was either a very bad thing...or possibly a good thing? He had no clue, the strange and sudden shift in behavior was fucking with his stupid dumb slut brain. 

It started when Certo said they’d be gone for 2 weeks - and then promptly showed up outside the ship’s airlock 3 days later, angrily exclaiming that the whole job had gone to shit in less than 72 hours and how they were _never_ working with amateurs again. Caleb had shrugged it off; it wasn’t that out of the ordinary for jobs to go sideways. But then Certo had walked into the kitchen the next morning and given him a firm slap on the ass when he’d bent over to grab the orange juice from the bottom shelf, which had startled him so badly that he dropped the juice, hit his head on the door, and fell over.   
“What the hell!” he cried, rubbing the back of his head and staring up at them incredulously. Certo snickered and reached down to ruffle his hair with a, “You’re so cute.” to which Caleb stared up at them, confused, before replying, “Uhhhhhhhthanks.” and quickly leaving the room. What the fuck? Was Certo - had Certo just _flirted_ with him?

Things just got weirder. Later that same day, Certo sauntered over while he was watching TV on the couch and flopped down next to him, throwing an arm over his shoulders.  
“So, what’re we watching?” Certo asked, casually, as though they were not behaving incredibly out-of-character by A) Touching him and B) Tolerating the horrible adult cartoons he enjoyed.   
“Uhh, it’s. It’s that show you hate. Zick and Rorty.” he said, side-eyeing them.  
“Oh, I don’t actually mind it that much. I’ll watch it if you like it.” Certo said, rubbing little thumb-circles into his shoulder and settling back into the couch.  
“Oh, uh, uh, okay? Um, yeah, cool, okay, uh.” Caleb stammered, face tinged purple. Seriously, what was _happening_?  
And that night - when they’d each gone into their respective rooms - Certo almost seemed confused, but Caleb couldn’t quite tell; it was hard to read them with that helmet always on. 

The next morning was equally bizarre. Certo pushed their helmet up briefly to kiss his forehead when they handed him his breakfast. Caleb choked on his juice.  
They went out to get ice cream together and Certo decided that they should just _share a milkshake_ instead, which was fucking bizarre, because they had never done that even once and Certo preferred strawberry, not chocolate, and Certo also didn’t usually want to _hold his fucking hand_. So, yeah, by now Caleb was getting suspicious.  
And then, even more strangely, Certo sat him down on the couch when they got home and looked at him very seriously and said some very weird things that...that kind of made sense?  
“Look,” they started, “you’ve seemed a little uncomfortable these past few days, and I just...that botched job really made me think about us, for some reason, and I realized I haven’t been very, uh, forthcoming with my affection, but I’m trying to make up for that now, and I want us to be good together. You’re my partner, dude. I love you.”  
Caleb stared at them, wide-eyed, too taken aback to say anything for a moment.  
“I...I had no idea that you felt. That way. About me.” he finally said.  
“Of course I do,” they said softly, taking his hand, “we’ve been together for years, man.”  
“Yeah, I guess...I guess you’re right, we have.”  
And then Certo pulled their helmet off (Caleb instinctively closed his eyes), hooked a finger in his shirt collar, pulled him in, and kissed him sweetly.   
Caleb’s face was flushed dark purple by the time Certo pulled back, and his head was spinning so horribly and so much that he just wanted to be alone.   
_What is happening? What the fuck is happening right now? Like actually what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck -_  
“I’m going to go to my room I’m sorry this is all very overwhelming for me right now I’m feeling a lot of things!” he exclaimed, leaping off the couch and rushing down the hall.

And, as soon as the door banged shut, Certo morphed into a tall, orange man who cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, sighing. Man, these guys sure had a weird relationship. I mean, who sleeps separately like that? And in different rooms? And why does this Caleb guy constantly seem shocked by his _partner_ being affectionate? What a bizarre species. 

Caleb paced back and forth through his room, mind racing, before finally picking up his wristband and dialing Atlas’s number with shaky hands, trying to keep his breathing steady. Atlas picked up on the fourth ring.  
“Caleb, I told you, it seriously can’t happen aga -”  
“Certo just told me they love me.” Caleb blurted, slapping his hand over his mouth immediately afterwards.   
“Uh, well, that’s not that weird considering how long you two have been partners -”  
“No, like, like, like loves-loves me.”  
It was dead silent on Atlas’s end for a solid 10 seconds, and then, “ _What._ ”  
“I know.”  
“That’s _insane_. I guess it makes sense? I mean, Certo really ripped into me after I slept with you, they were liiiivid. Y’know, I did always suspect there might have been more to it, but _I_ sure wasn’t going to say anything…”  
“Well what do I do?” Caleb asked desperately, staring into the wristband like the answer might pop up on the screen.  
“Well, do you love them?”  
“I. I don’t know? I mean yeah but like _that_? I’d never even - I mean, like, genuinely considered it? I don’t know. How am I supposed to know?”  
“Guess you better figure that out,” Atlas laughed. “I’m gonna hang up now and let you two kiddos have fun.”  
“Wait, Atlas, no -”  
 _Beeeeeeep._  
Caleb slumped back against the wall, wristband dangling limply from his hand. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

 _Okay,_ he thought, hand hovering over Certo’s bedroom door, _you can totally, totally do this. Totally._  
Anticipation coiled tight and hot in his lower stomach as he pushed the door open slowly, Certo turning to face him as the door swung inward.   
“Hey.” they said, setting their book down.  
“Hey.”  
“Wanna sit?” Certo scooted over and patted the mattress next to them invitingly.  
“Uh, oohhkay, sure.” Caleb stumbled over his words, sitting stiffly next to them, hands folded in his lap.  
“Whatcha thinking?”   
“I’d like to. Try. Us.” he said, wringing his hands nervously. “We can try.”  
Certo pushed their helmet off again (Caleb yet again slammed his eyes shut out of pure instinct) and Certo kissed him again, murmuring a, “I’d like to try too.” into his mouth, a gloved hand threading through his hair.

And so, for about a week, Caleb genuinely believed that he and Certo were dating. They kissed, and cuddled, and watched TV together and Caleb even managed to drag them out to party a couple nights - but most of their time was spent on the ship, being gross and domestic and doing things like cooking dinner together and making bombs. Caleb was still loud and crass - but now Certo laughed harder, egged him on more, told him he was so funny and that they loved him so much. In all honesty, it still felt bizarre to Caleb, but the affection was so rare and so longed-for that he let it happen, even though a tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered _you know this isn’t right._

They hadn’t had sex yet. Certo had climbed into the shower with him a few times and tucked his head under their chin, flat chests pressed together and warm water running over them, had washed his hair and pressed kisses into his shoulders - but it hadn’t gone as far as actual sex, mostly because Caleb, shockingly, kept avoiding it. It just...didn’t feel quite right.  
But, at about the week-and-a-half mark, Certo managed to get him spread out on their bed, wrists secured to the headboard and shirt off, little striped shorts still clinging to his thighs, soft and worn. Certo pressed a soft kiss to his trembling blue ribcage and Caleb keened, arching into the touch instinctively.   
“So whiny...” Certo teased, looking up at him.  
Certo’s thumbs hooked in the waistband of the soft shorts, pulling them down his legs slowly, pausing to lick a stripe up his hipbone and mumble, “We should get you a little ‘C’ tattoo, right here. Fuck.”  
_What?_  
Their hand slid up between his legs, fingers swiping through the wetness there and then two sliding in, firm and deep.  
“Oh god,” Caleb gasped, looking down almost disbelievingly, the insistent echo of _wrong wrong wrong_ only getting louder.   
“Wouldn’t have bothered to dry you off after our shower if I knew you were gonna get all _wet_ anyways.” Certo snarked, smirking down at him.   
“Certo, I d-don’t kno-ow if -”  
“What the _fuck_?”   
Caleb’s head snapped up lightning-quick, eyes widening comically at the sight of Certo standing in the doorway, gun in hand, clearly dirty from having been on a job for a few weeks.   
“Oh my god, oh my god, who the fuck are you get off me who are you what the fuck!” Caleb screamed at Fake Certo, thrashing around and kicking at them violently, wrists yanking at the rope binding them with desperation.   
“I - uh - that’s the fake?” Fake Certo tried weakly, gesturing at Absolutely Real Certo, who was so livid they were _visibly trembling_.  
“Get off of him right now.” Certo said, gun humming lowly, voice dark.  
Fake Certo scrambled off of Caleb, who snapped his legs shut immediately, face the darkest shade of purple Certo had ever seen it.   
“Untie him.” Certo ordered. Fake Certo complied quickly, and Caleb yanked his shorts back on and wrapped his arms around himself, eyes still wide, but now glistening.  
“Tell me what you came here for.” they demanded, voice kept deathly calm by pure rage.  
“I - I - I was hired to, to gather info on your life, where you live, the people you know, who you’re dating...everything. I got nothin against you, man, I’m just doing a job.”  
“You picked the wrong job.” Certo said.  
The gun fired and bright yellow splattered the walls and floor messily, neon and sulphuric.   
“Are you okay?” they asked Caleb, who looked as though he was trying very hard not to cry.   
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I - I practically _raped_ you, oh my god…” Caleb trailed off, breaking down into tears, his sobs immediate and shoulder-shaking.   
“Hey, hey, no, no, no, you didn’t know, it’s okay, you didn’t know.” Certo soothed him sitting next to him but not touching, not making any contact.   
“I should have,” he cried, “I should have, I’m an idiot, a real fuckin’ idiot, so _stupid_.”  
Certo set a hand on his shoulder - the kind of rare, firm, paternal touch that Caleb had grown used to with them - and sighed.   
“I’m sorry that this happened to you because of me.” they said quietly. “I hate that I put you at risk.”  
Caleb just sniffled quietly, wiping his nose noisily.   
Certo, meanwhile, was deeply unnerved by the idea that there was clearly still a large bounty on their head, the idea that people were _still_ looking for them, that people had _found_ them.   
“We are going to have a talk about how Fake Me convinced you to have sex with them, that was weird, I didn’t know that was a thing with you, I’m not mad but I am a little uncomfortable -”  
“No, no I was uncomfortable too!” Caleb exclaimed, shaking his head vehemently. “It felt wrong the whole time, I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings!”  
“Are you telling me you would let me _rape_ you to avoid _hurting my feelings_?” Certo asked, appalled.   
“I just - you mean a lot to me.” he said miserably, looking down at the floor.  
“Okay, well we’re definitely going to have a nice, long talk about self-respect and self-worth and boundaries later...but for now I think we should both get some sleep.”

_Christ,_ Certo realized later that night, while they stared at the ceiling, trying to sleep, _I wonder if he saw me naked?_  
“Ugh. Shape-shifters.” they muttered, curling in on themself.


End file.
